Dad, I am going to try and write this It may be a poem It may not But from my heart I miss you I remember the last time I kissed you Your eyes were closed They opened wide As I kissed your forehead In that terrible place So white and clean Where people die But you will never die Dad I love you so much And you will always live on In my heart Forever God, I miss you so much It's so hard to write through the tears
Stroll in the night Pretty shape of light Caress you in my imagination Island in a sea called sky Let me sleep under beams so tender I am in love, I surrender.
She keeps songs locked away in boxes like secrets. She will take them out like postcards to help her remember the feeling of a different time, a different person by her side. She likes the one that makes her eyes close to see the lights. She smiles at the one that makes her stand up on tiptoes, the one that helps her forget she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
The tune will carry her.
Like it did the times when voices broke like a heart. When instruments’ strings would snap and hurt.
The feel of the pen on the paper the poet grabs a verse.
the dripping of morphine the flow of endorphins flow of electronic lines across the monitor let’s hope we don’t flatline
this mere mortal needs a portal to the stars this mere mortal needs defibrillation to the heart the way the poetry forms in the lungs and the mind the way life needs beauty is sometimes unkind
I am the blood transfusion the illusion of poems bells chime Electrons flow Radioactive X-rays know Poetry opens doors
I am the emergency poet I will take flight in flames never shall I be tamed But I will make that heart beat and get you out of your seat And on the road to recovery and discovery
Because poetry heals and steals back our songs what could go wrong?