Another Poet Born
Poetry
I was a child created and conceived — with nothing
but a loving cradle and the sun, the moon and the stars —
my mother carving sweet syllables and lullabies into my earbud,
planting seeds into the crevices of my infantile brain.
And so be it told, another poet was born into this world.
An unpoetic, caustic, apathetic, cold, cruel world that spat upon us —
and we, in turn, spat right back, preferring instead,
to bask in the sunlight,
dance in the moonlight,
play in the banks of freshly fallen snow.
The tide may turn. The stars may shine. The embers burn.
I will always welcome the river rock and the gentle rain.
Words may dribble from my brain,
still I am chained and I am caged —
and were it not for my pen
no one would hear the yearnings
of this poetic unanchored soul
dancing to the beautiful whispers of wildflowers and quiet thunder.
Grace notes: Can you describe how you became a poet? Were you still in school or did it happen later in life?
Thank you to editor Sahil Patel and the readers of Lifeline publication on Medium.
© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.
