I see the world through a tilted glass
The lines and numbers taking on-
A double meaning.
The way I think makes a mad-chink
In my cynical armor.
For to breathe a poem back to life
To give it more than form and line
Is a way to tell a mystery.
Past what the eye can see,
Peering down into the shadow void
Drinking up the numberless voices,
That sing stories about lines of fire
And, given ambiguous form, aspire
To be made into something new.
Thus poetry became my tool.
A knight or rook in the game I play
To get across what I mean to say
When platitudes are not enough
A poem pours out.
Torn from my life
My guilt-gift, my offering
My slow-turning knife;
For when I give up a poem
I lay bare my soul
In spite of its rhythm
It flays open the bones.
But for me, to sing a poem is to say,
I thought of you today.
It grew like a flower in my soul,
The seeds of clumsy scrawlings from long ago,
When the world knew me as a dreamer
It grew-I grew and they tattooed poet between my eyes,
I gave it to you,
But God gave it life.
A gift to lay the whole world bare
Thats what poetry is-
But don't be scared.
For words have power.
More than tone and rhyme,
All poets are weapons
Wise warriors with no armor.
For we see the truth of the world
And strip it to the solemn bone.
The world would rather we wrote love poems
But, poets like me, like you-
Use their tilted glasses
To tell the truth.