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.