They think you have to be young
to write poetry.
To feel things as deep
as they do.
But they forget,
you have
lived many lives.
You've born
life.
You've felt
death.
You've seen
so much sorrow
it would make their
ancestors cry.
You've awoken before
the crack of dawn
just to sing with the birds
before the children
opened their eyes
to cry for their breakfast.
You've stood at the
peak of the mountain
to howl at the moon
because the keening wolves
called at that part of you
that only they could reach.
They still don't understand that age
truly
is just a wrinkled number on a page.
That you are still the child from before
though now your body betrays your
number.
That when you sleep you can still see
the young you-
run and jump and swim
as swiftly as air moves through the clouds.
You are not only a poet.
You are poetry.
YOU ARE READING
Visions of Ultraviolet
PoetryA glimpse into my mind and soul. Sometimes dark, sometimes light. Various pieces of prose written in a variety of forms throughout my lifetime in no particular orderly fashion or timeline. I write them on the spot, take days or find them as I unpack...
