I Live and Breathe Poetry
Just like some people crave coffee
I crave poetry
I make no apologies
I live and breathe poetry
I don't know what I'd do if I lost my poetic flow
If my minds pen ever runs dry
Surely, I’d just shrivel up and die
It would definitely be my worst nightmare
No poet’s cupboards should ever be bare
Whenever I go for a spell without writing
I start this infernal nail biting.
I find myself wondering when
The dry spell will end
Will the words ever spill from my mind
Like fine wine?
I yearn for those vintage thoughts that give one reason to pause.
I’m not looking for applause.
I hope that’s understood.
I don’t need accolades
Cause those things will surely fade
I just have a simple love for poetry that I can’t define
It’s my lifeline,
In an ever-pressing world
Where problem after problem can unfirl
I’m sure somebody here can relate
My sanity is at stake
Poetry is my inner peace
That makes the noises cease
I live and breathe poetry
It sets my spirit free
Poetry is the wind beneath my wings
It makes my heart sing
And my spirit soar
It is the open door
My quiet in the midst of the storm
It makes my spirit feel reborn
So, I pray my well doesn’t ever run dry.
I want to keep writing until I die.
Even then, I want my writing to live on
Long after I’m gone
I want it to bring comfort to the comfortless
And rest to the restless
I want it to be a source of inspiration
And revelation
I want my words to be a source of encouragement
To those who live in constant torment
Then, and only then, will my time here have been well-spent
Does that make sense
To anyone but me?
Or am I the only one here that lives and breathes poetry?
copyright Patricia Newman-Harris