All I had was an idea,
A dream I wished to recognise.
To create a book of poetry,
Like those that line my bookshelves,
Their pages filled with thoughts,
Dreams,
And fragments of lives remembered.
I wanted to leave something behind,
A small piece of my existence,
Set down in ink and paper,
To endure beyond the passing years.
So I set myself a course.
To learn.
To build.
To improve.
To evolve.
One poem at a time,
One page at a time,
One step closer to my dream.
It may not mean much to anyone else.
But that was never the point.
I had a dream.
And I made it real.
Dan Verkys 