This Poem Has Life.

Dear reader
And fellow lover of words,
I want this poem
(if you can call it that)
To be anomalous from
All the others
I have written in my despairs.

For, I want to write to you
Of soaring peace
And to give you a piece
Of indolent hope

In your day which I’m sure
Has been filled
With ugly news
(do not worry, it’s mostly lies)
and an absence of art.
I have for too long
Written only of my

Longings for reprieve
And for once,
This time, I wish to tell of
The joys of the world.

I breathe romance.
I consume it like
Poppies do fields,
(red is the colour of the arbiter).
It is in every action that
My little body is
Locked within.

It is the reason why we are here
My friend. It is the
Reason why
We are talking through

These pages.
Each day that the sun comes up
Is another promise of warmth
(the night is a shadow to cool within)
from a God that may
or may not
exist.

Let us not busy ourselves
With these big questions,
At least for a moment,
And let us simply

Live within the answers.
The evidence for love
Is found
(within the ground, not ourselves)
In the carousel movements
Of nature, and its promise
To return to us

As water does the sea.