I am a guardian angel,
cooped up in a cage up north,
with my wingspan so long
but the bars held so close,
that feathers enclose their own home.
--
I once told a prince a tale,
of how he could find his voice.
So he lifted his pen
& he wrote her a song,
& the cage was once again closed.
--
I visit a lady in black,
who wishes to be left alone.
But I visit her still,
& she weeps just a bit,
just enough to be at ease again.
--
a ghost I once knew still haunts me,
though I’ve fallen from my perch up high.
he begs me for wisdom & mercy,
so I enclose him & dry his eyes.
--
oh, there are woes among His people,
not one soul is saved from all this.
but His angels protect,
& they clean up the messes,
but even they have a cage to forget.

The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday,
Among the fields, above the sea,
Among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees;
Among the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may happen,
I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay;
Among the rustling of the corn,
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born
Out in the fields with God.



*Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I'll write a poem on your skin
With my lips, our love tattooed on every inch
At the back of your ear, your delicate nape
Your perfect spine and cheeks like wine

I'll breathe the words in your mouth
Let your soul read and keep my oath
Trace it in your waist and engrave the lines
Down to the lovely hidden shrine

Your eyes on my eyes, my warm hands on your hips
I can hear our poem inside your chest
The rhythm of our hearts will turn it into a song
And with your gentle kiss

*I'll write again.