Poetry

The power of this individual word
Can change a life if you allow it
Allowing the verbs and tenses to
Freely flow from the tip of your pen
Or finger as you trace these letters
Upon lined paper or on a screen
Tapping out the phonemes
Breaching the realms of ordinary pace
Punctuation becomes but a memory
Marks of pause, sometimes never used
Deliberate. Focused. Sometimes ...
Meaningless.
Often ... Forgetful. Rarely ... Stupid.
And thus together this poem comes
Together, a thousand strings
That create a symphonic orchestra
Notes empowered by filled lungs
That later will repeat these words
In the terms of a requiem, or moral
Commenting on what was written
And what has been said, out-loud
To the beat of an imaginary drum
Every phrase deliberate,
Pleasing to the ear, fine and sweet
The audience, every member
Takes from the poem what they will
What they desire, what is wanted
By them, they can consider the poem
Written just for them entirely
As it speaks a meaning that has never
Been thought or uttered before
Because
*Dramatic pause*
Fuck what the writer thought
Fuck what his intentions were
The death of the author comes
It reigns where and when you want it
You are the reader, you have power
A critic and a genius are you
Let the purity of every nuance,
Every sound, rhyme and heart
Full you with confidence and be
A reason for living