Putting a poem to page,
how cumbersome could such a thing be?
Collect lingering words cluttering up spaces in mind,
jot them done in print, letting those who care,
to see.
Every fleeted emotion,
all trickling desires,
every deeply embedded thought.
Give them glimpses, of portions, of your very own soul.
There are ones that will readily grasp,
others that will surely not.
Give them a world so sensually voluptuous,
as to make them forever crave,
or,
bring them to a darkness as deathening
as the deep depths of a fresh dug grave.
Open channels to all they accept as existing,
and sense as real,
or,
expose within themselves to a macab reality,
dead to the feel.
Let them touch forms of Heaven,
one's that ony God truly could,
or,
drag them down with masses,
into a Hell, devouted in knowing,
they willingly would.
Bring back delectable sensations as simple,
as a hand gliding lightly across skin,
or,
to the feelings of utter grief,
expressed in the sorrow,
in the passing, of friend, or kin.
From pointing out the subtle notions of entimacy,
in thier most carnal dream,
To the serenity of such a sound, as made from the motion,
of a slow flowing stream.
From thoughtfully expressing the tender joy,
of the heartfelt knowledge,
of having a child of your own.
To the black stain on your Heart,
for an eternity of existing,
as one,
and alone.
So to all, pondering volumes upon volumes here,
at such an astounding rate,
Seeking undefinable conclusions,
to every aspect of thier destiny
and/or fate.
Be your Heart as open as the Heavens,
or,
as hardened as tempered steel.
Remember the reason of your written word here,
is to express to others,
the essentiality,
of what it is,
To Feel.