John Henry

I absolutely love poetry. For me, poetry takes unorganized ideas, chaotic concepts and raw emotions; it refines them and produces artwork that is truly a masterpiece. Poetry is painting with words. In the art of poetry one can find everything from Michelangelo's David to Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles, Da Vinci's Last Supper to Van Gogh's Starry Night.

It is because of my belief that poetry is so brilliant that I tried to organize some of my ideas into a poem.

John Henry

John Henry is haunting me

Ever since I learned his name

I have pictured his face;

Prayed I would somehow see him in this place

I wanted nothing more than to watch him grow

to hear his first words...to see him smile...

To bandage a scraped knee.

I wanted it to be me.

I would look into her eyes;

Tell her it would all work out

She would tell me her fears.

I would dry up all her tears.

He was to be the first in our family

A little boy all our own,

to raise, to love, to cherish.

The thought of him will never perish.

John Henry is only a memory,

wishful thinking...just a dream.

A dream that is haunting me

because I still wish it could be.