Whispering
I have this dream where I'm a poet
and my life's an open book.
I write anything and everything
so that one person can feel everything
and anything, one thing or
something-connectedness maybe.
That rich deep running place where energy
springs from, my soul's well,
a place where
she goes to skinny dip,
or just dabble her toes in,
I write whatever comes to mind
then read slowly with the ticking of time.
She's my only fan, reads all my first editions,
my rough drafts amaze her,
editing astonishes her,
always waiting for the next chapter,
she tends to say leave your mistakes unchanged,
my words are her, everything I want to do to & for her,
I shine the mirror of words and the
description seen is a beautiful scene,
put your hand up and block the glare, that's you isn't it?
That ugly duckling full of innocence,
now look at you, so magnificent...
it's not so much the words or how they fall in place,
it's a gift shared, a hidden space seen,
the uncovering of vulnerabilities,
lyrics for a heart's melody.
I dream to one day captivate her undivided attention,
be satisfied as much as she's amazed to what's written
and do it singularly, for tonight, and the time it took life to create
heaven and planet Earth's dirt,
my words are anchored by her worth.
A Stabilizing thought in today's raging seas.
We ride a ship called Destiny
Finding my way through this lifelike maze,
seeking the benefit of love in a petri dish,
experiment gain the benefit
and to the measure of this that is written
experience and expose the highs and the lows
of what a poet dreams of, that one person,
you to be exact, might be listening.
Whispering
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