The first time I heard poetry…

 the poet took the stage with steadfast confidence and a look in his eyes that read that he’d been here for centuries as he began to speak

He spoke of himself… he spoke of God…

 He spoke of the distance between the two and I began to realize something about him.

 His bodily language began to change as so did his character

He didn’t stop to go back or start over as he stumbled over his words when emotion strangled his tongue like the death grip a snake around its prey

 His eyes were no longer steady

Bouncing of a people like a bullet ricocheting of walls, his gaze left everyone naked as if he was looking directly into your soul

 a trickle of sweat began to run down the corner of his forehead where a vein protruded out like a sore thumb his voice grew louder

with a snap of a finger he became thunder

with a snap of a finger his hands danced in intricate formation like a cyclone of uncontrollable movement

with a snap of a finger everything you knew about him that you thought you knew was different

with a snap of a finger … everything went boom, like an explosion in space as the dead silence drifted through the air as the audience sat an attentive unison.

he calmed the storm just as quietly as he started it

I sat and watched.

Readily my young eyes danced from person to person as I watched tears run down cheeks.

In mere seconds, he ran through every emotion I spent so long trying to bottle in

In mere seconds, he projected images of the life we all knew too well

In mere seconds, he shattered the cages of awkwardness and unsettling nerves that we all had burdening our shoulders

When he was done the audience cheered like their savior had been reborn again.  Clapping, cheering and sniffling filled the small room as the poet took one bow and headed off the stage

I just stood there. Trying to recall the experience I had, the sensation in my finger tips drove me wild as I focused on the picture he painted in my head.

And as I head home it me …not only did he opened my mind to a picture, he opened the door to paint the picture myself