Poetry

A poet's words found me and sheltered
My wrinkled forehead,
Embraced me and whispered
That I wasn't alone
Not the first to run into
The darker shades of blinding light
From the gentles of the nascent night
And not the last one strugging to inhale
The seldom ever seen freshness
Of the morning winds- unpolluted.
They read my mind and imprinted my life
In verse of ones I had never known
Yet felt so near that they could hear
All my whining in no requirement
Of utterances from my vocal weakness.
I breathed in and out and felt the newfound
Freshness of the breezing stanzas
of nature's poets.
And in my confidingness,
The sibilance of sunrisen sighs
of stoical satisfaction
Lended me a notepad
And a pencil sharpened enough
To write a lifetime of my very own verse.
Gave me a home inside mine
And a room so filled with metaphor
That solace itself found solace,
Tucked beside the barren bedside,
Under the pillowcovers
Of oh so poignant poetry.