Poetry, Like Love

on being a poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadows call out to me

when vulnerability seeps in
under my veil,

for, it knows well of my blank canvas.

If I could only pen petals
pulsating passion;
letting love color my imagination

anything but black,

but my words,
they follow breezes
and leave me here, dangling

-somewhere in between-

watching fireflies play
in clandestine corners
where constellations refuse to shine.

I could borrow brush
and beat old memories to death
to free my fingers;
rip out my heart
to find shreds of emotion
to feed fate's fancy,

but poetry, like love,

cannot be forced
or left gathering dust
beneath dried flowers
of a bride's maid bouquet.

It must be nurtured,
given room to bloom
flowing in perfect rhythm

to the shape of a heart.

Reviews

[Adrian K. Smith]

Yes, poetry dances upon many emotions; as we either seek to share or we seek to vent. The comparison here, though, to love strikes on key elements of my belief that love is not effortless but requires that little sincere effort... even if it is only in the little things, for the little things make the big things easier. I enjoyed how you touched upon this in conclusion, but I could not help notice the earlier reference to shadows and the seeping darkness. Once again, poetry can turn cruel - much in the sense, the world can seem cruel without love...

[Wondering Mind]

This awesome, my poet-ress friend. The imagery, alliteration, emotion...I can go on and on....Beautifully penned!!