My Life Poem by Isha Trivedi

The happiness of writing can be compared,
To the wind rushing though my hair,
The thrill of a tae kwon do kick in action.
The shadows of the Grand Canyon,
The sprays of Niagara Falls,
The hidings of the Redwood Forest.
The waterfalls and cliffs of Yosemite,
The marble of the Taj Mahal,
The deserts, beaches, mountain caves of home.
All the adventures in the amazing books,
That just seem to fly be, so quickly,
Like a dove, a sparrow, an eagle.
Cameras haven't captured the snapshots of my life,
The rock, shell, coin collections,
The Greek, Roman, and Egyptian history in my memory.
The calmness of writing stories, endless adventures,
The drawings I make, of simplicities,
The books I read, interesting, magical, unique.
The crocheting I do, soft, warm,
The gods that I study, another world,
The poems I create, write in my book.
My name is engraved on all of these,
As, for me, they were meant,
These things that I love doing.
They're what make me, me.