Artwork: A Girl Reading by Henri Matisse
I have a poem for you,
Bereft of ingredients of a poem you'll like,
But you are reading still,
So I persuade my pen to draft the colour of today's sky.
Of a teal that smears the last cloud your eyes can trace,
The deceptive white stroke telling you there's always a boundary line,
The two black birds whose flight together you outline,
And the one that flaps in solitude.
You think of these as yourself,
Persistently mapping the weather of your life, in rain, in sun, in every colour.
Beneath this poem there lies another one,
A poem that I write for the world,
Filling holes suggesting the love we have isn't really love,
Forging letters that masquerade my breath's growing inability to align with its running bright.
There is another poem, if you don't mind,
Which reveals how scared we all are inside,
Carefully wrapping the hurt, the break, the fear,
To replace it with feelings that reveal so much but nothing entirely real.
I have also wrapped some poems inside,
You can set the lid open and let them seep into your dreams at night,
But what will you when one of these speak to your heart,
And ask you of the poem of your life?
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