Poetry isn't for the faint of heart.
Its for loose cannons
And those with mutilated egos.
Sometimes, for those who have no one
to talk to but the page.
Poetry is not relegated to an older age.
Poetry is for the misunderstood.
The ones who seem to have no voice
until it comes roaring onto the page
the words reverberating.
Shaking up any heart made out of wood.
Poetry has its own conscience but does
exactly as it thinks it should.
Poetry isn't for Sissies.
Its hard honest work.
Even if it doesn't pay.
It satisfies and sets free
the most troubled of all human hearts.
Its sum is always greater than
its parts, if you listen
from the source within.
Poetry is for the daring.
And sometimes for swearing.
And for saying all the things you missed but wished
Poetry is having all the oomph that bullets never have.
And the nerve to aim them skillfully at a cad.
Poetry is about tomorrow or today
or the darkness of you left over from yesterday.
Poetry is forever stepping into the future or
dipping into the past. But poetry has the equilibrium
to dance into the present to make a gift of
the moment and make it last.
Poetry is a craft that can be honed.
Like a rouffous pearl it can be lustrous
when its shown.
With a shininess that surprises
and illuminates the disguises we all
hide behind. With poetry there is no place
you cannot go, draw or refine.
(Poetry is an open-to-the-public diamond mine.)
Poetry isn't simply the power of the pen.
Poetry is the place in your mind
and how you live within.
Its an ability to notice what others don't.
Its an ability to magnify what others won't.
Its an alternate universe,
not a faded away country.
Poetry is not for the faint of heart.
Its for the brave. Its where I live.
Sometimes I lurk within
the narrow corners of the dark,
a quiet place my conscious sometimes parks...
until poetry illuminates
becomes the way I see.
Copyright January 30, 2013 All Rights Are RESERVED by this Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
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