When I close my eyes, I see faces of people who have left.

I see smiles.
I see memories.
I see leaf piles.
I see passion.
I see small towns.
I see compassion.
I see rosy cheeks.
I see bonfires.
I see happy weeks.

When I open my eyes, I see the faces of those remaining.

I see tears.
I see decline.
I see fears.
I see locked doors.
I see alcohol.
I see unfamiliar floors.
I see red lines.
I see broken homes.
I see dark times.

Like a vase of ashes
I am full
Dense but dead

Unlike some,
I do not want to be a masterpiece
on an artist's wall
I do not want to be the overplayed
song on the top 10 charts
Don't get me wrong
it's lovely to be the only
flower in a green field

I want to be the used
paintbrush the young artist
quietly learns to keep forever
I want to be the only pencil
the writer takes life notes with
I do not want to be a favorite
book, sitting on the top
of your shelf.

I do not want to be an abandoned
word you left unsaid,
I want to be the analog camera
you use when the world is
flickering in fuzzy city lights

I want to be the poet's
stanzas in prose
I want to be the failed
color shade of mistake
on an artist's art work

I want you to learn that when
the tides roll in,
when the sand dusts oxygen
in thin air.
the shreds of my heart
will curl like burning photographs

I am the napkin you use
when there is no paper
or phone or notebook
to write down every inch
of your feeling.

Words do not a writer make
Nor poems nouns or prose
But the heart that breaks for breaking sake
Beyond calling Rose a rose

It's not the nouns or adjectives
Or strings of sappy lines
It's seeing love where nothing lives
And seeing darkness shine

A writer sees beyond the words
But sees the great divide
Between what heart says and what is heard
Never satisfied

A writer does not fill the page
With words that others need
But the page the page is the stage
Where their emotion bleeds

Of the things I think a writer holds
You may disagree
But if your heart is moved to words so bold
A writer you may be