The Poet strives above all else
to give shape and memory
to Beauty.
To capture and illuminate
the quiet truths kept hidden
against their will
in our eyes, souls, mouths.
We mistake our bodies
as hesitant, lazy
not realizing that
our physical selves
are eager for a reason
to stretch and yawn
to awaken in celebration
of all that is real and true.
Poetry is a healing endeavor
its honesty jarring
though achingly graceful
crafted by imperfect beings
fumbling in forests of
ashen clear-cut and verdant splendor
frightful risk, sweet empathy.
All we must do
is unknot our scarves
to reveal our hearts
and release the feisty
moistening our lips
so we may speak to the world.
In its ideal form
poetry sets both
Poet and reader free—
Free to behold Beauty everywhere.
To be washed clean and holy found
to receive Beauty’s pure form
collecting in cupped palms
the real and true of it.
_______
(c) 2012
