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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.

on writing and wordspassionfree verse

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