I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval

careless fingers,
they will
always take.
they never
will learn that...
fragile hearts
don't just break.

so brittle they crack
under pressure.
then into
a million shards,

they
shatter.

You* *are in every pulse of her heartbeat and the
*rhythm of the murmurs in between.

.

    oOOo           oOO      OOo     oOo                         
oOOOOo      OOo     Ooo      OO       oOo         
OoOoO                                               Oo          
ooO            •naked feet tread                
  with nonchalance•unafraid
    of what receding tides might
       bring•hardened heels soften
         to sunlit reverence•children
                   frolick accompanied by
                              unguarded peals
                                 that ring•towa-
                                     rd the ocean
                                      vast we halt
                                     to face•we
                                  look to the
                             horizon and
                         dream of un-
                   seen lands•we
          lift one foot with
   the other in place•
is this all we are...  
just impressions    
in the sand?•      

.

Spin a web...
a little tale...
with the
unwavering voice that
tells of limitless grandeur.

Weave the
finest threads of imagination,
laced with infinite magic...
into a spectacle...
of spellbinding tapestry.

Cast your palette,
unto canvas...
brush with the strokes of
your heart's shackled candour.

String your words
into phrases,
into sentences
that turn into beguiling jewels
that we...
only we...

see as poetry.

Today is knowing
that the night before
was only a feeble attempt
to delude myself
into thinking
that the world spins around
me and my ideals.

Today I know better.
Today I am sober.