little deaths of a poet

 
we die within our creation
little pieces of our soul is given
so that each poem
may be gifted
with the song of the living

it is our sacred debt to the universe
to be bearers of light in this world
it is of the giver's free will
to lose themselves to their art

sit back and watch it
like a mama hen
nervous over her hatchling
while it takes its first steps
some are shaky
others take off running

it calls to the peoples
within it's song so secret
only those set on this journey
will ever hear it

passing the cup of wisdom
one to another
we drink this knowledge
knowing it's hallowed

getting drunk off its spirit
we lie with our muse
and make love to it

behold a new thought is born
blinking in wonder at the Earth

innocent yet unafraid
because it carries bits of us
little bits of soul
we do this in sacred trust

poets of the order
take your place of honor
and sing for all your worth

while the world quietly listens
dissecting the hidden wisdom
you've been given
by design and instruction

woven inside your artistry
a feeling inside a poem
connecting you with all that's living

then take breath and exhale
while a new idea is forming
and the cycle of life completed