WHY I WRITE POETRY
WHY I WRITE POETRY
I can't leave the world in God's hands — that's my job now,
I worship yes — I wander forests of legend with flowers from the Tree of Life in my hair —
but trust, no — people die and that death is His will but it is my refusal,
and I am a poet and I know we need more time to make our own splendid mistakes.
Sea turtles live a thousand years in their slow and green waters,
my words cannot become flesh — they cannot heal an open and living wound —
but we could have colored rings spinning around our minds like Saturn,
we could map constellations across a lover's face as if that face were the entire sky.
Every child could be the Messiah because the world always needs saving,
and yet God — it is such a beautiful world — but no thank you, it is not enough —
no thank you for the sunrise when our eyes have already gone blind from so much dark,
a blank page is the place where I list the creation I was never given at birth.
A shopping list of eternity — where you are never too sick to eat fresh blueberries,
where the dance never stops in the middle of its most beautiful and aching step —
a blank page is a paper bird I fold and send to fly up instead of a prayer,
I can't change anything — but I am a poet and if I can't trust Him I must speak.
You are crucified on the hands of a clock — pull those nails out of your wounded palms,
test each day like a melon at the market — press it for ripeness, for sweetness, for life —
you want more — you want so much more than this beautiful and deaf world offers you —
and I am throwing you a rope of words from the bottom of a blank page — hold on.
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