I lived...
      
          I died...

                    I was reborn...


          Now I rise.

Dim lamp light casts
a poetic dance of shadows
from the corner of my
quiet office space
tracing words neatly
in my scribe's notebook
I rassle the pen skillful
to print.

I notice my paced breathing
holding back ever so carefully
the cowering anticipation
of the haunting lull
a writer dreads in times
of fevered inspiration.

My handwriting is strong
and simple, neat and tempered
but I soon expect the sneak
of the serpent scrawl to
wrap around my wrist
and pull me in tighter to
the tempo of a poet in heat.

I brace myself and breathe
deeply, purposefully I release
a humming hush of air
from my loose lungs.

I tend to tap my right foot
to the beat of a silent drum
rarely in rhythm with my
right writing hand.

Here comes the scrawl
I feel I can't control
Is it lack of strength
or the sheer thunder
rolling thoughts on paper??
I think it is a little bit of both

Where are you dear
fellow poets in your
casting hour??
Conjuring up words
to share our wants,
needs, fears and doubts
so perfectly
...or not....

The point is in the
actual act itself
isn't it??

I love reading poems about love.
About sisters like me
finding love
failing at love
not giving up on love
tired of love
grateful of love
needy of love

I love reading about those people that change them.
In their words I find their love as if it's mine too.
They give me a safe space to share my love
or lack there of

And even if each week our opinion of love changes
I know someone out there will read about my love
or lack there of

This week my love lives.

Your words a fissure in my heart,
crumbling it apart,
split in two, by you.
Like a giant you stomped your feet,
causing earthquakes in the street,
and I am merely a fearful boy,
who looked up to you,
only to see you destroy.
Now I lie with my dreams dripping out,
in the form of that warm red liquid,
soaking into the seeds of doubt,
all because of what you did.

Feelings laced with irony
That even I don't understand
So how could you?
Part of me wants to run away
All of me wants to hold your hand
But you're hurting, too.

I gave up on keeping promises.
Don't trust me; I don't.
Just walk away.
You're too nice to let me hurt you
Keep your distance; I won't.
But I wish you'd stay.