tender solar
Find me a poet to please,
or my days drift away like whispers on breeze.
I ache for a language that dares to explain
the wonder in longing, the sweetness in pain.
Find me a poet to please,
for what is a life if it isn’t explored,
if no one writes maps where no maps were before?
I crave verses that rise, that confess,
that catch hold of heaven and never take less.
Find me a poet to please,
unyielding, untried,
whose pen is a compass, whose ink is the tide.
One who sees beauty in scars as in stars,
who gathers the broken and makes them ours.
And when they should read me, my own scattered lines,
they’ll smile to see how my spirit entwines.
For my words too are rivers, they shimmer, they glow,
they’ll please the poet in ways they don’t know.
Find me a poet to please,
for my heart is no tomb—it is soil, it is seed,
awaiting the poet who waters my need.
Not hopeless, but restless, not silent, but loud,
ambitious enough to stand past the clouds.
Find me a poet to please,
or my days will surely have been lived for nothing—
each moment a spark, but no fire, no flame,
no echo to carry the weight of my name.
Find me a poet to please,
unfailing, unbound,
whose voice is a lantern, whose love is the ground.
And maybe together, our songs will unite,
turning every question to wonder, to light.
autumn moat
marble river
wide forge
pseudo oracle
coral zinc