A Teacher

Do you ever wake up at night for something insignificant and decide to look outside? You look over the rooftops, over the trees, up until you can see nothing but the stars.

I never realized I had such a magnificent view of my God’s creations. Each of them bright, and strong, and twinkling. Yet so small among the vast darkness of the sky. But there in between the cracks you swear you can see them, the others, and suddenly you are staring into a vast wall of heavenly light. They stand not alone, but with their brothers. Light streaming forever skyward and falling on your face, gracing you with its presence. It’s gentle kiss left as a gift.

And you lower your head looking back to earthly things but longing to be among the stars in their effervescent glory. Because how could you bear to be so ordinary, so small.

So small are the letters on this page that reach out to your eyes as a temptress in the shadows. They whisk you away, stir up your thoughts. They leave you thirsting, hungry, ravenous for the words they form. For the scenes the play across your brain as you read.    

You sit in your chair, in the silence, in the dim light, alone. And you feel a fire like touch run up your arms. You smell the embers. You see the flames. You let her caress you. You pray that she stays. The ink serenades me. Beckons me. Her eyes are something that you get lost in. Hair like a gasoline spill, threatening death every time you touch it, yet smooth as silk and shines with a thousand colors. One for every thought that she brings together, one for every mood and feeling now set in eternity. But I would not say that she has a heart of gold.

Hers is of mercury. It shines and dances, enticing yet deadly. And though you know  the danger you can’t help but be curious. How does it feel, what is it like? And before you realize you’re tangled in a web you never want to escape. Even if escape all you can think of sometimes. And you’re disturbed when you find that you can no longer imagine a future when you’re not in that web. When you are not writing every thought you can think

Everyday you become a little more trapped, but it doesn’t matter because you want it. The insight. The education. To drown in that heart and stay there forever. But for now you lay in that silver pool, and let it’s waves cradle you, and soak in it’s warmth, and you feel in your soul that the second you leave you would surely die.

Poetry is a teacher

Poetry taught me to speak, to sing, to scream, and enjoy what I had to say. Poetry taught me to share my life, my ideas, and my beliefs. Poetry taught me about the world that others see, and that no one see the same thing.

Poetry is a teacher that lifts you up and fills your head with dreams.

Poetry is a teacher of the heart and the soul

Poetry is a teacher of raw emotion and controlled criticism

Poetry is a teacher of life, of love, of anyone with a pen and some ink