What is poetry for the poet

but a bleeding of the soul

ridding one’s anxious mind

of love’s unrequited torture

or a singing heart of roses

innocent of love’s thorns

our poet spills his deepest secrets

rose petals mark his jagged path

sun casts light upon the grief

his lamenting words

only a momentary cure

our poet waves to the spotlight

the growing woes of others

find their voices climb with his

ringing justice to the deaf

the sword of action left untouched

our poet curls inside himself

searching for the strength

to rise with his words

the song he once sung

its lyrics never forgotten

our poet rekindles sweet waxing

life anew – seasons upon seasons

people, flora and fauna alike

spring to the mind – onto his lips

our poet’s tongue is sharp

skewers the mighty and rich

giving hope to the low and forlorn

sealing his prose in flowering text

to bloom in another life