The poet’s hearts race
When the universe bleeds around them
And there’s nothing left to do
But moan the cries of Earth’s children.
They fall on the writers shoulders
Because the poets empathy shows through their eyes
And it’s in those eyes that their hands will writhe,
Their fingertips grip around the mind
Hungry.
Toes will cling to their shoes
All while the limbs connected become liquefied
By the pulsating blood that drips off their tongue
Onto their trembling fingers will caress the sacred paper,
Then,
Their body explodes into flames
As the outlandish ****** the act of creating brings
A feeling more sacred than when a lover’s touch will singe.