The Stranger

Once upon a time, there was a stranger.
He lived across the bay in a different time.
He sent me postcards with stamps
And I sent him emails with regards.
He wrote to me of the war
And I narrated the story of the nuclear weapons.
We spoke for six months and seven days to be exact.
But it seemed like a lifetime or perhaps more.
He was my past and I his future.
Different era,
Different city,
Different universe.
Time and space didn’t matter.
After all does it ever in a dream??

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Amateur is the word!!!

My verses are unrefined and crass;
I’ve been told-
Free verse is not literature!!
My prose is said to be unnecessarily long;
My tenses- all goofed up;
My thought process- really confusing
(even to me).
All in all- an amateur writer who should just stop.
But once in a while someone comes along
With words of kindness and appreciation
And fuels my humongous ego.
To that someone, I promise–
My verses will be true;
My prose will mean something;
Pretense is not my forte;
Being blatantly honest- one of my many follies.
I am just me
And what I write will reflect just that.