i am just a poet . . .

i am just a poet . . .

destined or cursed

fated ?

i can’t help my self

words dancing in my head

seeking acknowledgement upon my pad

begging my spirit to liberate them

from their prisons within me

that they too

may see the light

such is the way

of we who listen

can you hear the cries of the children

the hungry

the thirsty

who wish to sup

from thy cup

and sit at thy table poet ?

feed them !

i look to the heavens

and words rain down

into my consciousness

stirring me to awaken

and serve

their syllabic libations

i look at one who may suffer

an anguish of their own

and it becomes that of mine

begging me to lend my voice

choice ?

within that of my own self

there are confused little children

playing in the playgrounds

swinging and laughing

falling and crying

as they are vying

against the tethers of my denial

i must give them life

i go to sleep

and they whisper

always attempting to awaken me

and my pen

is this the duty i have come to exact

in this time around the circle

we spin thoughts into stories

laden with spirit’s virus

that we may infect

that and whom may be affected

and none are safe

and the angry little devilish ones

seem to be having fun

when they expectorate

with a vengeance

when i liberate them

and their malcontent voices

i would rather think of

Flowers and Butterflies

but they won’t let me

they say i sleep too much

for their liking

we strike deals with them

for all that appeals to them

is to make me suffer

within

as i struggle to be clear

is this the embodiment of my fear

dear poet

that they may become silent ?

this is one for the ones who would understand

the demand

to write

speak

and weave the verse

with meter and rhyme

in lines

to be inspected

by those about us

more times than should be

belies our own validations

odd you say ?

for in the speaking

of those faintly heard voices

to the paper

we extricate our own woes

and who knows

what would become of me

if i did not

destined or cursed

fated ?

i can’t help my self

i am just a poet . . .

(c) 27 December 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.