Enough, Enough, Enough

I don’t have enough to say,
But I have no excuses to give you;
I only have my words,
So in spite of that, I will become your literature.
From little moments, I pilfer tiny sparks
Whose lives fluctuate from a breath to none
But I’ll tend to them,
Express things that’ll outlast a legacy.
These are just words to you,
(I hope I’m wrong about that)
But these are my words
And I imbue into them a fragment of my soul
So please, don’t just let them expire before your feet.
A writer is a beggar,
With nothing but scrapped paper to his name;
I’ve written over mine many times.
But to write is to pray,
And through trembling hands,
I dedicate this prayer to you. 

-k.r.r.