Its national poetry month
2 years ago i wouldnt
Have called myself a poet.
2 years ago i would have
Spoke it, wrote it, though
Never claim poet.
Angelou raised me, to
Feel compared to her
Was never aligned with me.
To be called a poet, was beyond me.

Then it happened,
A shift took place,
And I heard that my voice
Is my poem, my poetic embrace.
My pure thought is the poem.
The universal love poem
Of us, of what is.
So I know I AM a poet.

So I write it.
My voice.
The one no one knows
Yet is their own.
The prior One.
The comfortable One.
My home.

This place, my heart dwells, it longs
To rest again.
To be re-strained through
This sieve of us.
To elect to rest, just a moment more.
Unless my children call,
Ill return.

Though the quest feels near
Its return. The hero heart
Feels awoke.
Dragons slayed, battles won...
Only to find me again.
Bare, alone, aware of One,
Yet alone. Prepare for
Redefinition.
Change, evolution.
Only to find me again.
Bare, alone,

Aware of One.
And my poem moves along,
And I write to move my thoughts
Along. The mind gets sticky
Tough, thoughts like glue.
Though, when I release
Its gone. Not the love,
The incessant thought fog,
Registering all my eye sees.
Sifting through the pieces of me.

And You. All I know is I miss you.
And the embace of your dance.
The hold of your hand.
I dig deeper yet,
And we meet again in my heart.
Aware of our heart. I feel the beat,
I tune and take heed.