Purpose of Poetry
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When visions, discoveries burn my soul
that which pours out of me is something forceful,
maybe CHASTE. Although it's hard for many to embrace
ideas on an unconventional level... I still knead my fingers
on paper where the language of my voice chants
or hollers wildly--these hands grasping my teacup.
Morning wakes and I get lost in drained phrases,
a blueprint of journeys imagined...they are only words,
vacant lines about nature, anguish, even love...
Yet here is life in poetry which rises above
what is expected. And I blaze unknown trails
when moonshine grants me the favor of raking this navel
and speak from a space that marks my integrity.
I believe that weaving a story is my endowment
to echoing dreams needing full exhalation;
to untold traumas masked by social graces...
more so, to all innocent wiles, tastes, fragrances
borne out of my will to convey the unusual,
deserted remembrances , where a universe
of people meets in serendipitious places--
those ardent moments defining man as a divine human.
Only then would my oolong tea blow cold,
and my moving poetry become vulnerably warm.
```*```
10/16/2020
Beth Evans' A Duty of Poetry Contest
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2020
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