A Poet

I saw the tag line recently, “no one really wants to be a poet.”

Poetry is my ‘mont hault’, *mowat.

I will never be independently wealthy from my verse.

It could be worse.

Milton, Eliot, Dickinson, I am not.

Emotions I have not caught,

I can lay them out on the page.

My brain I can engage.

Thoughts are lost to me.

They take flight and flee.

I can say how I feel in words.

I can fight, scream, emotions on my terms.

This dance with words gives me hope.

A way to cope;

with the punches life throws my way.

God sorts the words to say.

I can lay them out on the page.

My brain I can engage.

Feelings are brutal.

I find them futile.

Poetry keeps me sane.

Poetry is healing my brain.

*houseofnames.com mowat, thought to be derived from ‘Mont Hault’ which means high mount.