Forget Why We Write

;;

Forget that each bright morning
dawns in indigo ink and bids us
spill our former selves, offers a
fresh petaled page for the

(loves me, loves me not)

aching.

Forget that words are keys
and bandages and nails,
songs and swords,
puddles,
…………crowns.

Forget the ups and downs
and in-betweens of loving
a rebel poem and watching
it fall. Forget all

the times someone heard,
and held
…..and saw.

Expect applause. Expect
a cause. Expect
effect. Expect. Reject

the idea
that a phrase
is enough, in
and of
it
-self.

Then,
remember your own heart
-beat. The way scars held
themselves together with
storied skin. Remember
why you’re here. Begin.

………………..Again.

 

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides. 

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