Letter to poets from stranger places

This one goes out to those
crazy radicals, and those lazy in bed
days off you decided to bring your A game
after a night of Netflix and that inexpensive bottle of red
the way you write, the ink that bleeds
life on paper, the better parts and the
fleeting nanoseconds we have in
detailing our wayward thoughts
You have an obligation  
to take focus off of yourself
because your self pity partying
is only beautiful to you, and you alone
we need to channel the ennui
in a spin of light and weavers of those
precious times we
lived for moments how we ought to
you are…
the rain droplets outside my window
on a day when winter secretly shifted
to a spring of much lovemaking
I watch as other poets
are discovering the reasons and the raisin d’etre
of their craft
poetry as prayers
or are our prayers our poetry?
do they instill light and sanctify the thought life?
are they heavily guarded works of art that inspires
hidden depths in us, and our secret longings?
Yes and yes and yes, you sitting in the cathedral pews
frolicking in shadows and basking in aureate etherealness
I see your confounding wordplay offerings
that places twisted grins on many faces
then there’s the nameless cafe drifter poet
who rap a tap tap’s on his/her MacBook pro
over $5 lattes and making the barista
stay an extra 10 minutes past closing hour
who was I then, but all and none of these?
a poet who drank excessively of decent wines
and wrote like a Korean drama action star
from someplace very close, yet so far
so good
Written by untamedfox (spike)
Published | Edited 1st Feb 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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