The posings of a poet.



(Photo credit: nouspique)

When I wake and find melancholy on my pillow
where I had left joy just a few hours back
I must out the sails of paper let them billow
as I inscribe my words upon their back

When I am taken by the deepest passion known
and can just barely find strength enough to breathe
I must needs turn aside and commit to ink what dreams have shown
and find the way to shore as love from heart to heart doth seethe

When  love looks at me and I rise upon the tide of great desire
it seems I live what has been written and am borne out to see
where I would attempt to capture what I lived I would oft cast it in the fire
for I miss exact recreation and the essence begins to flee

But all of that aside most days I find that I am most alive
when I am proud rooster scratching humble as a scribe
and from this banging out of language I grow and truly thrive
in ways I find most hard to here for you to hear describe

Other than to say when I have ceased to record what flows within
I sort of cease myself to be anymore than a corpse in waiting
and my day passes slowly by as I attempt to once again begin
capturing inspiration through words and lines worth stating


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4 thoughts on “Posthumorous

  1. feeling melancholy?and want to cry ?that is poem for and come out all from your heart..and "through words and lines worth stating"love love~

  2. I don’t want to imagine the day when words will not be written, spoken, felt. Amazing emotion candy here.

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