I, proclaiming that there is
Among birds or beasts or men
One that is perfect or at peace.
Danced on Cruachan's windy plain,
Upon Cro-patrick sang aloud;
All that could run or leap or swim
Whether in wood, water or cloud,
Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.

I am a poet because of you.
It's the way your being
delivered a tidal wave of
poetic awakening to my
once dull veins.

Your lips watered
the flowers in my tongue
that were once called prose
but now they developed into poems.

Your fingers latched
perfectly into mine and
your nerves reacted to my nerves so right
and in that moment I knew our hands  were designed for each other.

And although
your tongue left my tongue
and your hand left my hand,
the diabolical mixture of your blissful and painful memories
kept the flowers in my tongue alive.

Soon enough, the flowers
crawled through my arms and hands,
begging me to write
the poetry that they bring.

You will never read this
but I forever thank you,
for I will always be a poet
because of you.

She only writes in black ink;
her thoughts are much too dark
for the blue.

My toothache reminds
me of heartbreak.

The sweetness
that brought it.

As real as a headache.
An abstract thought.

Barbed wire through
a work glove. Old love letter cuts.

Kind of like love, yeah
kinda like love.

God said*

  *"All those who are weary and burdened come to me,  and I will give you rest. "

His words are the arms that is holding me to sleep tonight.



Copy Right 2020
©PoeticPat

If you've ever stayed up until 4 am,
you're either lonely or in love.
And I don't know which one is worse anymore.