The Splendid Flood of Many Words

I have been mad with poetry for years

Do all writers get thus obsessed?

I ask my friends what craft they practice

 

Pencil to guitar, the art of loving others?

In the stationary shop of our diaries

I want to see some magnetic power

 

To your ambitions, we’re all made for something

I want to live with some new treasure

And both of us delicious mad, might prosper

 

At some later stage of our unruly lives

Enjoy the satisfied silver trails

Of our unique uses of language

 

Which have become the song of our spirits!

I will make my little trail of silver poems

With a lament and warm comfort

 

For this modern world, it’s an art

To love what you do, everyday

I have been mad for poetry with years

 

It is my pleasure to walk ankle-deep

Through the interconnectedness of it all

The community of symbols awaiting miracles

 

Loving the world outside, unknown and waiting

Thirsting for the unique timed-moments

Hushed in the poor house, reading books all day

 

While strangers work in every room

I want my heart to know a bit of all of them

In their withheld vulnerability, their

 

Secret music, nurtured comforts, birthday revelations

I have been mad with cradled poems, empty pages

For such energy, zest, humor and healing

 

For the sensation, of hearing your voice

The way it used to be, doomed butterfly buzz.