If poems could weep
sweet dripping words that speak
the heart's pounding defiant secrets
once forced hushed to a peep,
then let my pen stir rivers and streams,
manifesting crooks and bends,
where wandering starry eyed kids like me
can make amends with their dreams.
When you're quiet- it's hard
to make it known how much you've grown.
When you're shy- it's hard
to express your distress
when all you can manage is a sigh of whims being pressed.
For all the standstill moments
when you're standing all alone, those silent defining moments
that rattle your bones,
there was comradery in poetry that
braved the unimaginable and bravened my soul.
WIth no room for mockery in this comradery,
I grew to love words that bound to each other
a dialogue of captivating emotion that soon entailed
me to scripting unbeknowingly my autobiography.
These sheets of solitary solace, a telescope to all the solstices
that have passed in the revolutions of my lifetime.
A lifeline during my lows
When darkness kisses the bruises from blows,
A living memorial to my highs
When life is merry and intoxicated with the bubbly
rose that also paints the unsetting sunny skies.
The simplicity of living is forever etched,
with romantics playing with the folly of their antics,
laughing and crying to the beat of poetry's iambic.
Within rhyme and meter
And between the lines of sonnets written by time,
I’ve found a mausoleum for memories to reside
And on its grassy lawn, lying on my side
I’ve found a place to look up at the stars
Starring shoots of dreams and wishes that
tesseract substance from antimatter.
These supernovas transform calamity,
Refining the chaos that embeds the tapestry of reality,
Giving witness to the beauty of
the life bewildered, the life beguiled.
If poems could weep,
they remind me that I am still a child,
a fool at best with my heart on a sleeve,
yet they take me by the hand and show me
how far dreams can make you leap.