Poetry Does Not Sleep
The poet makes death tremble
For taking us one day
For in giving beauty to our words
I serve a beast, an angel and a madman
Within me, it’s terrifying then
To write about how our lives diverged
On a path from the same source
Who cares if we take a road
Less traveled to arrive at the same source?
You might have an ordinary life
And I might have a life of spirit-fire
But who’s to say who is the richer, or the poorer
When we all define success differently
If I can stop one heart from breaking
From the bottom of my heart of words
I shall not live in vain, cool the aching
Life is unpredictable, but one thing I know
I found I change best with the seasons
When I’m writing, which happens quite often
I promise spring is coming
And with it, brand new leaves like poems
I will be the sunlight ripening again
I will be the buds and birds in circled flight
I will live on in poetry, I will not have died.