And when the waves retreated
The sea refused to accept them
Pushed them back out
Each time they receded

It never understood
Even when it pushed them back out
It owned them and made them
A part of itself

For one can only push away
That which is theirs
One can only disown
That which they command

Because if they actually left
A flood would ensue
The city would be destroyed
And guilt would **** the sea itself

~

a gift as you say,
if such there be,
is only a gift
when given to thee
with no strings attached,
and truly is free.
yet...
mine come the hard way,
no, my poems aren't free,
for it is no gift
when the "talent" you see,
though the writ and the wit
flow with ease, admittedly;
no, my poems are cunning,
they act like they're free,
yet in truth they are cruel
for my poems own me!

~

*post script.

written in response to a friend's words, " you have a gift", to which i can only say, "ha!"  and to my fellow poets, you know who owns who; for if yours are like mine, they tumble around in phrases in the night, leaving you restless and wanting, til you rise and extract them onto paper, and ONLY then will they leave you alone!"

i think fellow poet Joe Cole has perfectly captured what i have wanted to articulate  in these words to me:  "The gift is in the mind, the use of words are the ability to gain the gift."  well said, my friend!