Coagulation
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Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
but my spiritual blood still spills from my poetic pen
like a razor has sliced upon the wrist of the cosmos.
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A reluctant poet am I creating poems, a poet
filling gaps between time and lost time~
time that opens wounds into worlds unknown.
A gardener of spiritual awakening, a poet tills
the soul’s soil with existential preening, ontological propagation~
a sojourner acting as both stopgap and soul-stamp.
A cultivator of human flourishing, a poet tends
to mankind’s soul with art, poetry, and myth
with failure and loss, with ambiguity and complexity.
A purveyor of wounds concealed in pain, a poet mends
mankind’s soul with tales told with verse, rhyme, and lineation
knowing every scar tells a story of heartache, pain, and suffering.
A keeper of the sacred fire within, a poet tenders
the flames of mankind’s yearning for transformation
channeling the pagan goddess, Brigit, offers catharsis and balance.
A versifier of multiple poetic forms, a poet tirelessly creates
compelled to explore the human condition, bleeding words excessively
spiritual blood will never coagulate.
Copyright ©
Sara Etgen-Baker
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