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Monday, July 06, 2015

This is Not a Poem

My darling, this is not a poem.
It's not grand enough to speak
for the soul, or the spiritual.
For words are just physical fire
that burn with no notion
of the hands that built it,
or the intimate breath
that gave life to it;

these are just some small sticks
scorched white, charred black
matches that I've tried to light
in testament to you,
but what do they know?
How can these lifeless marks
write to the soul of you
when there is none worthy to?

All I know is you
are prior to love, as the soul
is to religion, as the human
is to the word, you come before
and above all description,
and so defy all definition
written or spoken;
love is your affirmation

my darling --and this is no poem,
and I'm no poet; I'm just a blinded
fool trying to write as he sees it,
frustrated by cliché the deeper
he feels it: knowing
you are the theme
of every desirous dream,
and every word ever used for it.

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