Written Raw

There’s poetry in your eyes, bloodshot and bruised, hunting like a vulture starved. A God to those who find glory in grieving. I’ve licked the poetry right off your lips, hardened by time’s punch line, cracked and weathered by the screams you cannot bear to keep. You are poetry’s loss and I am you. So let it seep from our pores Let it mix in our tears Let it shape the core of anyone wiling Let it paint the night in hues of gold Let it bind us in leather and make slaves of us all Let it be fierce and wicked and cold and true And let it shake our bones and swallow us whole Let it be Let it be Just let it be. And then maybe Poetry will give us life and set us free.