Reflection I

My heart before I write.

Poets are foul creatures that make love into words.

I am a foul beast who knows love is no word

Yet I insist I write there.

My hands speak of dreams and truth-

My heart is broken and I am a poet who writes through.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Enter your comment here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Email (Address never made public)

Name

Website

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s