Cover my ears with ignorance,
pummel my head with bliss.

Cemetery trees shiver
in the snowy breeze,
and cover the graves
with their dead leaves.

Tombstones and bones
lying in the shallow earth,
remind the living that
it could always be worse.

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds