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I'm a man that crochets words
A man that conjures dreams
The colours I use have flavours
The deserts I walk have streams

My oceans are filled with mirrors
The mirrors are crammed with stars
Light travels by using the darkness
As an energy fueled reservoir

I tie knots in the ends of stories
I paint pictures with pauses and stops
Grow trees from relative clauses
I verbalize things quite a lot

I dress emperors who have no clothes
Riddles are my stock-in-trade
In the peaceful silence behind my eyes
Wars are raging every day

I, Poet, am hopeful of beauty
Ugliness having loveliness to rhyme for it
I like my cliches covered in bruises
When language gets broken poetry restores it

I'm one of those surgeons of memory
I paint sounds that ripple and weave
Deep down in your deepest forgetting
I shine a light so truth can be seen

My macrame are stories and knittings
Sculptures and landscapes of rope
Twisted since ancient beginnings
Giving mankind a way to share hope

All this but simpler and more basic
Though it is clumsy and awkward in parts
See beyond these words and their meaning
I, Poet, am opening my heart.
Tommy Randell Sep 2017
Leave me
On the ice when I can write no more
When the fast flow of my poetry
Slows to an inutility of words

Leave me
In the darkness when my rhymes hang dangling
As a lifetime of dreaming
Fritters out to rambling

Leave me
Homeless in the hedgerows in some final isolation
When the urgency of rhyming
Has reached its abnegation

Leave me
To the long night of empty pages
Staring back at me finally
While the Silence in me rages

Leave me
For my own good I do not want sympathy
When it's stopped I will know it's stopped
The Heart of all I've ever been

— The End —