When I breathe my last let it be known that words were my calling,
sweet some days as plum
to carry within as orchard away from chaos and din of city
and tart at others like grapefruit
to help cope with the stress and strain of everyday living,
for the longest time I was unsure how to translate emotion
to change the perspective of those around me who knew not stifled
apart from breathing.
A few leaves of Summer remain to be revered, to be appreciated
as the year turns its head,
how easily you disregard passion, turn a deaf ear with coldness
toward what your mind cannot comprehend
if you peel me you will find poetry
pink as an August sky that has upheld its promise
I am psalm sung late at night
when clouds lift their glory onto the eyes that wake.
Keeping a day ahead as responsibilities rise between minutes
I cannot duplicate feeling, a moment in time long before the muse
my words are healing in the swirling black abyss of despair
I long to touch hearts that have turned to stone
how easily you avert your gaze under pretense in the blaze of sun.
Tell me your deepest fears,
come share your woes and dreams
some of us read, some of us garden and some of us sew
what’s common is each of us relish in our doing
I paint my images like fried egg upon a canvass careful not to let it smudge
around the edges-
how easily you ridicule what you term as old fashioned,
has the moon ever lost its charm or become dim in the darkness?
My poems are warmth on winter mornings,
a friend to those who think themselves alone in this world.
When I breathe my last let it be known that words were my calling.
Photo credits: Elena Katsyura Teacup and Grapefruit slices, Pinterest
Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United