Yes it's how I love you,
and how I always will.

unmistakably, unequivocally, unapologetically certain

in the most sensational ways

Make angels of butterflies
and diamonds of stars
and you will see that you
are already an alchemist

Turn wind-song to symphony
and rain drops to honey
and you will grasp that you
are already a magician

Make gold from the sunlight
and silver from moon
and you will know that you
are already a sage

Turn silence to reverence
and  solitude to strength
and you will sense that you
are already a prophet

But

Make lessons of missteps
and laughter of regret
and you will be welcomed
to walk among the gods

We are the poets

The lovers, the fighters,
searching for truth, gasping for air
Tearing down walls, dancing through sorrow
Working our way through collective pain while standing on the edge of the cold hard mouth of the world


We are the dreamers

Pen in hand, heart on sleeve
Laying ourselves bare, tattooed with words
hearts beating in iambic pentameter;
wounds bleeding ink
Almost broken, nearly ****** yet driven by the indefatigable resilience to heal, syllable by syllable


We are the brave

Shining light in our darkest rooms
Stories of our catastrophic follies
Revealing in verse our deepest secrets, our greatest fears
Standing naked and wet on ice-cold tile in front of an unforgiving mirror yet unwilling to break the stare


We are misunderstood

Hopeless romantics in broken-hearted clothing
Teary eyed but vision clear
Laughing together, crying alone
Gnashing our teeth but holding steady our hand on the rudder, gently guiding the soul of the world


We are the witness and the witnessed

When the story of the world has been told
And the sun has set
a record of all that we have written will be discovered
And in that sacred text, the story of just how inexpressibly beautiful every single moment of our lives have been

We are the poets - never. stop.

IF I allow myself to perceive even the softest of sounds
so ever fleeting and far flung
I can hear that which would otherwise, unobserved,  
have ceased to exist

And how untrue a life it would be,
if not for the quietest moments
when silence is nearly upon us yet escapes, hat in hand, through the open window
through which the gentle sound
of a mighty sparrow
discovers me discovering myself

and either observer or observed
how we yearn to find the sacred
without seeing that it is in front of us
like so many sparrow songs that go unheard,
lost under the din of thought -
perfectly knowing nothing of that would otherwise have shown us great glory and places which we would never see. -

Yet I, sitting ginelrgly on the edge of my soft white comforter
know that in the sound is the entire universe
summed up in a single wave.