I'll Be The Poet

I’ll Be The Poet
(“Then I will ever sing praises to Thy name, so I may daily pay my vows.”
Psalm 6:8)

I'll be the poet who sings your glory; no vanilla words.
I will not fear that my poems will not be
published next to works written by jewels and
read by budding scholars.

I’ll pen upon napkins old words turned around
familiarly to bounce near and up, piling them
finely, one syllable upon the other. I would try
to keep them short and friendly so the reader
(one does not write for oneself alone)
might see a face as if they’ve known it sometime before.

I’ll scratch with the pencil stub I found
in the parking lot…then quickly lest the
words be forgotten. I’ll weave them broadcloth,
linen and cotton; earthy sounds to carry
our solitary love to Love’s ear.

I’ll write of devotion, the passion forgotten,
that speaks simple, from puddles to bubble,
the lowly voice, single; lasting for the theme
enwraps eternal the universe’s song.

I’ll not pretend to command every diction
considered, I just throw the love like
kitestring knotted to flight breezes playing
over the meadow alone. Within sight
it dances where eyes face the smiles;
children captured after a sack-lunch picnic
on the lawn.

I’ll script the playbook, the single player
within the one-act composed over a single
day alone. A Cast of One, a song meant
to return the kiss of heaven; simple
words with a harp or plastic recorder
to play the interlude that leaves my soul
wanting more than just another set of
words.

Vanilla is fine; words may not rhyme,
but alone I find honesty, the cohesion of
joy and sorrow existing only in the
heart kissed once and wondering how long
until the Love of Heaven returns the song.