I’ve been wanting to write a poem for a little while now, but I couldn’t think of anything to write about. Finally, last night, when I got home late, I had an idea. I wrote it with the intentions of telling a story. I want the reader to feel a sense of completeness when they read the last line, which is something I’ve struggled with for a while now. I always focus on trying to make everything sound nice, but that’s only part of what makes a poem a poem. Hopefully, if you’ve read some of my other poems, you see some improvement in the overall quality.

 

A Spot of Land

A spot on my father’s plot of land

Is where we’ll go, hand in hand;

A spot I cleared all by myself,

But with intentions for someone else;

A spot where we can be alone,

Away, but not too far from home;

A spot in spring, where everything grows,

And thrive when summer finally shows;

A spot in fall, to build a fire,

And surrender to our true desire;

A spot in winter, blessed for spring,

Where children could laugh and birds can sing;

A spot made from my father’s influence,

Seen in the woods that grew with his assistance;

A spot that one day our own will tend

And transcend and extend to no end.