He Is The Poem


by Esther Del Carmen Drolick


He was The Poem.

A piece of work I admired afar.

254 days and I analyzed each part.

Each line grew my interest in its rollercoaster plot.

Each line I grew closer to the author of this art.


His being provoked a Renaissance within me.

An awakening of music and thoughts to roam freely.

To be able to trust and love again was an abstract theory

Which he fulfilled with his intricate words and unbalanced rhyme scheme.


The string of absence had stolen my heart before

When my father climbed the golden stairs from bloodied grass floors.

From then I forged wall after wall in front of my doors,

Until The Poem shook them down and reached through my thorns.


He is The Poem for my vacant heart.

He is The Poem, I, his chaser.

He is The Poem, my love, God's art. 

He is The Poem not written on paper.

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