Lora Colon (26 September 1944 / Missouri - United States)
The Poet's Spirit
I'm writing a poem to my love this day,
Does he know how I struggle and toil,
Searching for words that will touch his heart,
And when reading them, might he recoil?
What can I say that will light the flame,
And ensure that it keeps burning bright;
I want my words to be like the jewels
The thief hungers for in the night
My weary head falls upon the desk
As I search for the elusive words;
Grasping in vain at dark empty air,
Surrendering in defeat afterwards
Then a glow in the distant horizon,
Swiftly advancing, catches my eyes;
It's too calm for the dreaded lightning,
Too early for morning's sunrise
There's a voice in the wind speaking to me:
'Words will come, and they'll flow like a river;
Steadily, strongly and deeply they'll come,
'Til the message has been delivered;
For this is the duty of the poet,
Specially chosen from God's own choir;
Uniquely expressing love's longing and hope,
And all the facets of man's desire'
I say to the spectre 'Please, do not go,
I need your strength here with me; '
To my plea, it responds: 'Of course, I'll stay,
I'll stay forever - for I am thee! '
O, it's the spirit of the poet's mind!
I've been rescued, my efforts blessed;
The light has come to these silent halls,
Wisdom garnered from my shadowy guest
I'll write a poem like he's never seen,
And when I'm done I'll take a bow;
The flame will be lit, his heart shall be mine,
The poet's spirit lives in me now!
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