The Way
I can feel the poems within me
Growing, moving, churning
Not yet ready to see the light
Yet building the light within me greatly
Sometimes I feel volcanic, ready to burst asunder
Sometimes there’s simply quiet, undercurrent
Moving the continents
One millimeter at a time
These senses are so subtle, sublime
Yet also they can be a sudden torrent
I don’t have my container ready to catch it all
The drops disappear into the warm, rich earth
Something will grow from them later
Something that creates a vast, deep crater
Too deep to see the bottom
Too wide to know the expanse
No droning lore or circumstance
Can describe or tame it
I can feel the poems within me
They grow, they move, they delight
They torture, they tense, they torment
All at once
All in a day
This is the way
Of the poet.
10/17/17
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