The Poet
A poem for my favorite poet
I read the words in every line but all was red in my eye
You have a way with them but never with time
I read and I clenched my fist and I clenched my jaw,
I watched
As you take a sip every time you pen a prose
About a rose or a Lily, all willy-nilly
Who gives a shit if it was your turn to pour?
Purposelessly driving, no one’s keeping score,
You said
You can tell a story even if it was not true
It’s still the truth even if you tell it halfway through
Your words they flow wherever the eyes go
No one would know,
But you
Build a wall, seek refuge, what a silly little clown
Put on your crown, king of the silly little circus town
Poetry is your mouthpiece but it has not any sound
What goes around goes up in the air
My love, it’s not there
It’s not there amongst the letters and the better parts of the stanza
Nor it is at the bottom of the bottle of gin that I got ya
Stop spinning, you’re spiraling
Your pen is running out of ink
There’s an inkling of a feeling you keep trying to ignore
But no more,
You wrote and I read and all was red in my eye
Write me when you have a way with time
