You are a pox on my being
In my soul, in my home.
You are a sad irritation
Like a burr on a bone.
You would keep me apart
And you would leave me alone
Until I give you your life on the page.
You are a feeling, a sentiment,
An inclination to roam.
You are the weight of the world.
You are a pebble, a stone.
You will not rest till you are told
In the lines of a poem.
You want glory; you seek light on the stage.
Yes, I do love the peace of your departure,
The few moments when you are new born;
Oh, but why does your seed
My poor rhythm still need
Till another verse is from me torn
By the search for the freedom,
For the rhyme or the reason
Till you’re the rage,
Till you’re a pearl
Till you’re a song.