Tell me if Earth is flat or round,
She hears thin weeping willow's cry.
How planet was this built is too profound.

Tell me about the origins of life.
Where sky was dark, no sound,
Just glimpse of His first light.

Tell me about the waterfall of words
That tends to spill and drown
The valleys of my life.

Tell me about your sins and virtues.
The only truth I want to know
Is if they hurt you.

Tell me why quiet is your tongue,
And why the burden of this time
confusion and debation sprung.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.