L.A. the Blog: Poetry “What Is …”

What Is …

Inspiration, when the only thing
In life that matters is the singular self.

(I’m making a statement)

When a lover smiles, does the
World stand still and the day
Brighten, the night become more pleasant.

(I feel your eyes staring at me)

Can a life be saved, if I give
Everything I have and try, try, try
Then cry, cry cry.

(Truthfully I didn’t cry when she died)

If I tell the truth, does freedom
Sing over a crimson desert sun.

(Did I lose you?)

Who told me, that I shouldn’t live
A quiet life of desperation.

(It’s a riddle, but I am sure someone knows)

Will a friend, answer when screams
Shatter repose with the word “help.”

(Shatter “help” with a shriek)

How can anyone tell, understand,
comprehend that they’re truly alive.

(Sometimes I enjoy nightmares)

Does the word fuck offend you, even
If you don’t speak English.

(Really I’ve never liked saying a word more)

Make me king, but free me
From this kingdom, these shackles.

(Love is not free)

… and what if during a summer
Night, the warmth chasing away the
Cold memories of life, like a
Firefly love meanders slowly
Zigging and zagging slowly
Counting stars under an oak tree.
“Will? What? If? When? Does? Then?
How? But? Who? Can?” and everything else
So perfectly weaves together into
An exquisite web where the only
Whisper left anywhere carries just
The name “Love” …

What is inspiration, if nothing but
Forever caught in an embrace.

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