Poetry, my Home

Bruises of words blue and black

Pain, and disregard, and bleeding attacks

So I come to

Lines of words white on black

Ambrosia and nectar for scars

Sketched in the mind

On the sky, stars

Winds of foreign places

Sights from other minds

Truths of unexplored ages

Cures of every kind

Silverstein and Dickinson

Frost and Angelou

A different brew;

But all the same

 

Bruises of words blue and black

For pain for regret for every trap

Poetry is robust, gentle, and kind

A medicine that keenly traverses time

 

So when you are feeling sad, lost, or alone

In the same way I have, 

 

Just call poetry your home

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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