A small child struggled to hold a ripped dictionary.
Holding a broken stubbed pencil, recording thoughts to carry.

A large roll of butcher paper was one tool, she used.
Letting not the world conquer her goal, legs bruised.

Her goal was to make the world a better place.
Feeling peace in the meadows, no obstacles there to face.

Someday her words would bring a another, peace she hadn't known.
Somewhere a child wouldn't be forced to endure alone.

Growing older, a drunk driver left horrible scars on her face.
Cruelty and taunts by a teacher and students were led.

Forced to go to school, enduring name calling.
Secret writing for many, her goals was budding petals, not falling.

In the Army she continued to write, enduring the death of a boyfriend.
Never finding the past hurt had an end.

Yet her promise she made to God was still fresh in her mind, anew.
Reaching out to touch all she could with verse, true.

After a cruel abusive first marriage, she strived to aid all she could.
Knowing her poetry was God's gift, she should.

Then another boyfriend died from Leukemia, grief again in wake.
Hurt was so bottled, really hard to take.

An adult still had same goal to help other's painful existence,
Never letting cancer lower her sad resistance.

Despite oldest sister destroying all her writing, seventeen journals, in a jealous rage.
She is now a published poet soon revealed on the world's stage.

Her goal was to help the world live a better life from pain.
Each day she continues to fulfill her goal, altering another's disdain.

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