Teacups and Pens

Itself

Poetry is truly only

honesty strung together

with bits of wire

that hang out of your mouth

and begin all of the way

down in the soft smooth beating

of your heart.

An expression of the way

your pulse feels when

the subway jerks into motion,

and the shadows

begin to shelter

everything you’ve created,

and the man you lent

your heart to

suddenly switches agendas.

Poetry sings the sad slow

tune of the sad slumped man

behind the ancient piano.

He allows the melody escape

through his lips,

and watches as it settles

through the audience.

But all they feel

is a numb vibration through their veins,

from a glass of

‘Let’s just forget’,

so they all just smile

through glazed eyes

and enjoy the noise

coming from a man

just tickling the ivories

into the lonely hours.

Poetry is a written representation

of how your heart feels,

what your soul thinks,

how the mind dances.

As simple as that.