My sweet, sweet savior,
He is the one I crave;
My one true, lone lover.
With each line we scribe together
He gently kisses the pain,
The injuries of Life
Without my lover
I hate to imagine where I'd be;
Buried in the ground;
Swinging from a tree.
He is my hero,
My knight in shining armor,
Possessing so much Might that his mere Pen can slaughter the Sword against my wrist.
Who is he, this 'Poetry'?
What does he mean to me?
To put it simply:
He is the soft, golden warmth radiating down from a mid-springtime sun;
He is the calm and stillness in a post-storm, morning sea;
He is the simple, pure, powerful force
Inhibiting me from ceasing to be.