I’m so humbled by the response to my “poetry”.  I am not a poet.  I love words, writing them, but have lived my life with the concept that poetry emerged from words being forced into submission; into rhyming. Then one morning, the morning of  my best friend’s son’s funeral, I was compelled to write about him and his life.  What came out was verse that had a rhythm; a feeling on paper that could be written as a poem.  So occasionally, when doing my morning journaling, words seem to just form themselves in an organic way into what I feel should be a poem.  It just happens, coming from an inner space, and never with the thought that it could happen again.