Poetry
Poetry is silent.
Poetry is still.
It’s the look in my sister’s hazel eyes
On that chilly November night
encased in the fair’s flashing lights,
But mostly in the steel moonlight.
Poetry is pain.
Its my niece’s tears
And my daddy on his knees
It’s my mother’s all consuming rage
It’s the blood dripping from my best friend’s wrists
Its the people I love in hysteria so hysterical no sound is emitted.
Its pain so terrible
that you can’t shed any more tears
from the shaking and heaving
and the panic from being unable to keep breathing.
Poetry is euphoric.
Its Gods pure holy ghost.
Its all consuming peace.
It’s control of our flawed flesh’s beast.
Poetry is loneliness.
Ensnared in a black hole
where no one else can go
but you
until it decides to break its hold.
Poetry is anger.
It’s rage ice cold
that you can’t even speak
It’s rage so hot
you cannot sleep.
Poetry is fear.
Its so scared you can not move
even when you have everything to lose.
Poetry is crude.
Its sex and lust
and fucking and screwing
Its pornography and hate
And sometimes love making.
Poetry is a lot of things,
It can be beautiful
But its heart breaking
and gut wrenching.
Its promises broken.
And words unspoken.
Its the inability to express words in the heat of the moment.
Its enflared inhibitions
and repeating regrets.
Its words best left unsaid.
Its buried feelings left for dead,
yet still alive, unable to be forgotten,
unable to die.
It’s the compulsion to ask the question why?
Its leaving without saying goodbye
Its a lover’s sigh
and a baby’s cry.
It’s Satan’s smirk
And Jesus’ blinding holy light.
It’s a bone burning fire that can not be extinguished
and thirst that can not be quenched....
Its incurable illness
Its intention is to kill.
But like the phoenix it rises from the ashes.
It’s the ocean’s inability to keep waves from crashing.
It’s God’s unfailing love
And Satan’s green envy....
Poetry is never silent.
Poetry is never still.
(2012)
