untitled but for poetry’s page

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Poetry is its own best audience

Poetry is a daily practice
I don’t consider it particularly artistic
More like the spirit of language
Doing therapy on my brain

This is your brain on poetry
So I’ve transformed down the years
A few thousand poems are like
Little green eyes smiling

Like leaves bursting with wind on a tree
Next to your room, close to your soul
Like the ocean in the background
Holding all myth and legend

And the whispers of love that can
Absorb an entire lifetime
Like the memory of romance when
All romance has died long ago

Poetry is a meditation
Of how indebted we are to nature
And how gratitude never runs out
It only returns again and again

Like clouds of delight
And stars at twilight
Money is a kind of poetry
In the extent it lets you live and do anything

Through for inner freedom
Poetry > money in its simplicity
You can take it anywhere
And it will be guaranteed to still possess you

Embrace you, ravish you with
The adventure of time and delight.

9 thoughts on “untitled but for poetry’s page

      • Hey, I just saw that you responded to my “wow”. Sometimes these comments get lost ☺ What did I like? A few of your lines really got me… “like the memory of romance when all romance has died long ago” and “poetry is a meditation of how indebted we are to nature”. I am in love with poetry and I enjoyed this beautiful description of your love for it. – Jenn

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