A poet’s weapon of choice:
Their Pen.

This weapon –
The only tool,
Capable to express
A poet’s emotion.

It lets:
Ink flow on paper,
By its delicate touch;
Emotions to be engraved,
Onto the paper;

Hope; transcends onto it.

This is done by a majestic tool:
Their pen.

I wish to be a poet.
But –

My pen flows with blood,
My pen viciously carves onto
The paper;
Marked – by blood stains.

I wish to be a poet…

However.

My pen; my weapon –
Is not used for writing
But;
For cutting.

No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile

readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,  
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...

a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on,  shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.

sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words,  a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....

a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...





Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    January 29, 2017

Oh no

I was told once
that happiness was around the corner
just go and get it

I crashed into a wall

But they don't get it
I'm not one for speeding
around sharp corners

chasing happiness around the corner

I don't cut corners

straight to death.