Birth of the Poet

When I was born, I faced my demons,
And the lives they cared to be.
From their sight, so filled with blindness,
My own eyes stared at me.

This new moon has made me so blind.
There is a flame I cannot see.
And this flame I only borrow
As it roars through the trees.

All I have is your beauty,
And the souls that we could be.
But I’m here to say I’m sorry
If you ever cried for me.

There was a smear on the threshold:
A pain that ended endlessly
Into another untold story:
The youth of what is yet to be.

When I was born, it was all over,
And the shadows were set free.
From her arms, they held me closer
And they bore the cup to me.

All I have is your beauty,
And the souls that we could be.
But I’m here to say I’m sorry
If you ever cried for me.

© 2020 Marten Hoyle