It’s there,
Written in city lights,
Hurricane clouds,
& sculpted islands floating on an ink-blue sea.
Sweet air,
Hovering over mountaintops,
Deep valleys,
& swaying wheat, choreographed by the wind.
Do I dare
Ask petty questions
As I check out
The provenance of the artist’s worldly work?
Who is this Poet?
Where’s his/her pen?
When did he/she begin?
How will he/she end?
What flair
This scribe boasts,
Signing
With titanic strokes, dotted by jots & tittles!
Put on your Sunday clothes, my poet friend.
Be dangerous
As I laugh & cry, live & die.
Take off the top of my head,
& pluck my heartstrings.
Liberate me from life
& bring me Peace.
Oh, invisible priest,
Visit me on my deathbed
’r I’ll ne’er make it home!
Poet,
Writing in city lights,
Hurricane clouds & sculpted islands,
Dip your pen in the inky blue water — & write a line for me.
