The song in me
\ngets larger and larger.
\nI have so many songs to sing.
\nSome, I wrote for others.
\nSome, I gave only to her,
\nsunset and dawn.
\nI wrote carousals for birthdays.
\nPrayers, for those
\nwho needed prayers.
\nSome, to pound drums with.
\nAnd some, to weep with,
\ntaste tears.<\/p>\n
To be a poet is to be emotional.
\nTo feel lava in your heart.
\nTo rejoice, ringing in laughter.
\nI put some poems in books
\nwhere they can never be betrayed.
\nMade fun of for their lack of syllables.
\nAnd my songs stay silent with me.
\nMy hands tremble
\nwith the weight of words.
\nNot age, but with the burden
\nof their notes,
\ntheir stories,
\nrebuffs and atonements.<\/p>\n
What age does is rub windows clean.
\nLook inside places I\u2019ve lived.
\nWatch people come and go.
\nPress my fingers on the panes
\nto feel their hands
\npressing on mine,
\nthrough the transparency of time.
\nSometimes,
\nthe barrier falls away,
\nand for an instant
\nI kiss a hand I love,
\npen and paper forgotten.
\nThen I sing the rest of the day,
\nlike a kite caught in the wind.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The song in me gets larger and larger. I have so many songs to sing. Some, I wrote for others. Some, I gave only to…<\/p>\n