A poet's heart sings out in joy
in the night and longs
to beat the drum of her soul
as it cries out
Touch me.
I long to be expressed.
Play in joy
Beat the rhythm
Of your heart
As poets are
Oft to do.
Then shock
And lightning strike
and thunder roll over
The heart of the poet,
And her expression of it.
The face of a friend
Soon transformed
Not a free spirit
But the face of control
To utter the words
Of a “grown up”,
The banality and anti-creativity
Monster reared his face,
“Let it DIE.”
He silenced the drum
and shut down the joy of
my free spirit and heart…
And inspired the darker side of my soul
And gave dark hated birth,
To a razor bladed pen,
Can you read the
Blood between the lines?
Beware the poet's pen,
And no better pen to
Beware, than a woman's
Scorned.
