Itís 12:57 this Monday nite
Something summoned this Poet to write
In these words Iíll find vision, wisdom, insight
I penned, ďThis ainít no poem. This is about youĒ
This is no poem this is my reality
Ainít it funny that this is about me
For I donít know where you came from . . .
Or what you intend to do . . .
But now I canít escape . . .
I canít undo . . .
The fact that I am blessed by your presence . . .
I have feelings for you
And now I think about you in everything I do
I pray that divine intervention will guide me through
As if this soon will pass but I want this to last
Sometimes I feel itís too soon to tell you
Then I fear that if she knew, ďShe will she play me for a fool.Ē
At this stage Iíve got all to gain and nothing to lose
So I am compelled to offer these fragmented verses . . .
In hopes that you will think of me soon