This is why I write.
Because of salt on the lips of the dead,
The bitter grunts of lovers in my head,
A moon blinded by mist, egrets in flight,
Forgotten ancestors by whose words I am fed.
This is why I write.
To awaken drenched by the dew of night
Blooming cereus that releases from my throat the dread
Song in my chest for the journey ahead.
This is why I write.
Because of salt on the lips of the dead,
The bitter grunts of lovers in my head,
A moon blinded by mist, egrets in flight,
Forgotten ancestors by whose words I am fed.
This is why I write.
To awaken drenched by the dew of night
Blooming cereus that releases from my throat the dread
Song in my chest for the journey ahead.
This is why I write.
5 comments:
Love it! Bravo! "Song in my chest..."
Stephen, this was one of those poems that I really loved writing.
Have a great weekend!
Niecly, nicley, wid de "Manifesto", Mr Poet Man. Good to have you back. Have a great weekend. 1Love.
And this is why we read you. Wishing you a good weekend.
Thanks, Rethabile.
My author's copies of Who's Your Daddy? came in today!
Happy, happy, joy, joy!
1Love
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