the sacred art

 
my anxiety peaked and i couldn't talk
I felt like a coil was winding ever tighter ready to pop
into the dark I fell
I don't remember what happened next
my mind to this day is foggy

I somehow ended up here deep under the ground
where I began to write
just a few words here and there to start
I wasn't practiced at the art of poetry
I didn't know the language I just babbled
but I expressed my pain the best way I knew how

the wards of this place watched on quietly as I evolved
it seems I was invited here by the unknown
the people took me in and made me feel at home

I realized this was a true gift, an art form
my pain fueled it and my poems were written with my blood
my hurt expressed in crimson
I was utterly driven to write
I had no choice my suffering too great

a certified hermit without social graces
I found this was a place I could safely socialize
soon I knew the poet language
using it as an art form of expression
its taught me a lot about who I am as a person
who the universe is and my place in it

I love the people here they understand this special language
it is a true artistic gift
this place sacred