lifethrupoems

Write like every word matters

Like the letters are etched into your skin

Meaning is a tale left unfinished,

Revived by recitation, an incantation


The folds of my heart form lips and speak

Thoughts turn to blood, blood to words

And words create a world before unseen

Unheard, spoken into existence by a wavering voice


Growing in strength as roots spread into the earth

Mountains rise into the night

Hands made of typewriter letters reach for the skies

Climbing up, clawing the empty air


Things are birthed from whispers and hushed utterances

Are nourished by the joyful voices

Of traveling nomads and housebound grandmothers

Who fill their days with speaking, telling, narrating

These things grow old and young, as we remember and forget

But they will never die, for we are storytellers

Writing worlds into life

What becomes of a flower when no one is looking

I wonder, does it remain open and fresh

Immortal and unblemished in the

Sparkling light of the moon

Or does it change, transform

Lose the pretty petals, set aside sweet nectar

Don moth brown wings and take off

Into the night, running away from the moon

Does a flower curl up into itself when

It knows that it will not be seen, will not be noticed

Close its petals and kiss them goodnight

Release the weight of maintaining pristine quality

What does a thing of sight do when it is not seen

A thing of beauty that, for a moment, isn’t admired

What do you become where you are unmade