The Yin and Yang of Poetry
I think poets are the reason
for hell – Dante a perfect example;
for we write ourselves in and out
daily – a lifetime of times –
it is the Yin and Yang of poetry;
the creative pull between halves
both opposites: the in and out of
creation in constant flux of sentence
and reprieve; the itch that can’t be
reached for such rashes internal –
an ache in the heart that can
kill, confounding physicians having
no prescribed remedy, each of us
a pharmacy of self. Romantic
verses infecting us all our waking
and sleeping hours! Rusalka’s “Song
To The Moon”; Vilia, the enchantress
of the wood, falling victim to her
own supernatural prowess. God and
his angels, a juxtaposition of good
and evil in the same mysterious body….
All of us young and old in a sea
of small and large fish, caught, trapped
and then circled by a fleet of hungry
sharks. It is youth struggling to
to break free, while the old man hanging
on as blood runs till dry from his
shredded palms. We are Ahab and
his indestructible whale. Romeo
and Juliet at the foot of the altar
pleading a heart’s case though silent
the statues, cold to the touch as all
marble to the base of a goblet laced
with poison.
Passion is all this...and yet...we would write
it no other way. Not us...though Omnipotent
our pens.
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