When Lost Love Drives A Poet's Pen - Poem by Max Reif
When lost love drives a poet’s pen,
Who could ever condescend?
Lost love drives us
To drink or poetry—
Anything to fill the hole,
To vent a raging heart
Penned in a solitary cage,
Its bars made blackly visible
When a beloved leaves!
If writing out
a string of words
In blood or ink
Helps a soul to bear the burden,
Helps to relieve pain’s potion,
Diluting it by sharing
With a sea of drinking minds
In some kind of sacred homeopathy,
Then worship such a poem!
If rhyme is all the order
A poet’s skeletal life
Can cling to, for awhile,
Then celebrate such rhyme!
If only pens could heal like wands!
More likely, therapeia comes
From sober visions in the mirror
Made of words that flow from wounds,
Parting the clouds that hide us
From our own predicament:
Then it’s time to get to work—
To face another sunrise,
See what Providence may bring.
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