“You can’t write the clear biography
of the aches and pains inside your skull”
~ Harrison from Skull / Songs of Unreason
I didn’t decide to be a poet.
Rather, the poet found my mind lush fertile ground
for prophecies and fantasies to be or not to be.
Writing in bloody ink, the tears of heartbreak and loss
agonizing over the terminal cost of what it means to love
with all your brittle bones, your fragile state of mind cloaked in
Searching for purity in pain that reveals
the haunting chant of a summer rain,
the melodic songs from above welcoming dawn,
the taste of golden honey as it drips on your tongue,
the awakening of an ignorant soul once dead.
Feeling so much it aches, creeps into the core of you
as a lover slips into your dreams on the wings of raven night
and the river of words once dammed by mediocrity,
now flow into a pool of awakened thoughts.
I didn’t decide to be a poet, but I am.
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg