Thursday, October 10, 2013

a poet's death

there is currently no poetry in my world

 empty pages beckons to me to speak

there is no time for me within my day

to stop, to breathe, to dream, to exhale

a lone soul, I came into this place

where beauty is vast and breathtaking

but life and its demands have nailed me

to the cross like some martyr to commerce

I have entered this land of strangers

where not an ounce of trust exists

and am not in a place

where I can protect myself

hyper aware, constantly in defense

of things that should not be taking up my time

no place to let down the upheld guard

no space to exhale my own need

last night I dreamt that my poet tattoo

simply rubbed off the surface of my skin

that is wasn’t truly etched into me

as the definition of who I know I am

the message is strong as I wake today

and am slammed back to reality’s bite

so in defiance I sit typing these words

when I know I ‘should’ be doing something else

I cannot let this environment

take over the content of my soul

I have to quiet the external screams

so that my voice

has room to be heard

she is quiet and timid until sure of herself

and I cultivate her growth

but if I let this world take the core of me

then she will die as well~




  1. Oooo...sometimes life is a giant pain in the ass. But when we can at least write of that pain, we share it...we punch it down and get some peace of mind.

  2. Such an intense feeling of claustrophobia. I can relate to the idea; it is a continuous struggle to keep that poet part within us alive and kicking because without it, a major part of our identity is lost.

    Brilliantly penned. Enjoyed reading this.