Poetic Friend

I just met a friend on line who complimented my poems of verse and rhyme. He saw something in it which I can’t describe. As if we had became one of a kind. It was as if I had become the poetry Instead of it coming out of me. My poems and I became as one As the sky with the sun. This is a feeling which I find hard to Put into words, like a voice which Had never been heard, Like the final door that has to be opened And you have the key, that will set your Mind and heart free. Is there really a point in life Where we become what we write? Have I really gotten to such a threshold Or is it that I’m getting old? I guess I’m getting old! For this is the story that I’ve been told. Ha-ha got to love it!