The Poet's Mark

Sometimes I want to hold them

At others stand up and shake them silly

Often I want to kiss their lips

Drink in every word they have written

Let their grace wash over my pain

And fill the empty bled out wound

Sometimes I walk away

Count the ill spent monies borrowed

Because some mentor said they had talent

Forgetting to mention the dues to be paid

Nobody said there was interest on living

It's then you can feel the street on their hands

The knife scars deep and bruised tender faces

Trust and safety stolen at birth

Rediscovered rare as a meteor

Burning above in the heavenly halls

Their words their lives their karma ascending

And Truth comes staring us right in the face

Their Truth my Truth and yours is spoken

The honored dead and translated words

Written once more as if newly minted

As if they have never been seen on the page