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.

2012.04.05.0300 ©