She speaks…
and we can’t help but listen,
weaving words into those intricate locations
causing multiple rotations within our brains
as we circle around her words…
moons to planets
completely controlled
by the magnetism in her flow
they seep (her words of beauty and pain)
into the marrow of our collective thought
causing a wave of great emotion
and a ripple effect
as it moves and grooves its way
through every pore, until we thirst for more
knowing we ain’t seen nothing yet
she transforms love into rich metaphors
of raindrops slowly ‘kissing off ‘ clouds,
then plunging, diving, plummeting
headfirst
into the grass,
she manipulates each loss, and the tragedy,
into an emotional struggle we all can share,
melancholy flowing from her pen
like chills from autumn wind,
and she doesn’t seem to care whose watching…
cause she’s lost in the words
lost in the way they come t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r
to represent the storms she’s weathered
she’s my inspiration
as each of her poetic conversations
(with me)
seize me, and pierce me,
I’m instilled with the way she feels
and isn’t that the purpose of poetry?
and we can’t help but listen,
weaving words into those intricate locations
causing multiple rotations within our brains
as we circle around her words…
moons to planets
completely controlled
by the magnetism in her flow
they seep (her words of beauty and pain)
into the marrow of our collective thought
causing a wave of great emotion
and a ripple effect
as it moves and grooves its way
through every pore, until we thirst for more
knowing we ain’t seen nothing yet
she transforms love into rich metaphors
of raindrops slowly ‘kissing off ‘ clouds,
then plunging, diving, plummeting
headfirst
into the grass,
she manipulates each loss, and the tragedy,
into an emotional struggle we all can share,
melancholy flowing from her pen
like chills from autumn wind,
and she doesn’t seem to care whose watching…
cause she’s lost in the words
lost in the way they come t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r
to represent the storms she’s weathered
she’s my inspiration
as each of her poetic conversations
(with me)
seize me, and pierce me,
I’m instilled with the way she feels
and isn’t that the purpose of poetry?