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I Used To Be A Poet
I used to be a poet
Breathing words into my blood,
Drowning in the flood,
Of emotions breaking free.
Fear tried to staunch the flow,
Hiding me from every blow,
The feeling I recalled was broken free.
I was washed away in muses tide,
I rode each wave, I flew so high,
Till the storm had won and driftwood blocked my way.
I fought a war with every breath,
Till all that waited was my death,
I was thrown again against unyielding tide.
But breathing, loud, above the din,
I clawed my way out, from within,
And found that somehow I was still alive.
Then standing weak, upon the shore,
I wait for the storm to hit once more.
Then hurl myself direct into the wind.
I'll break myself upon the lines,
Till each word is right within my mind,
And bloody and bruised, I'll start to write again
[I used to be a poet...]
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