Ars Poetica

No,
the poet does not
live in a beautiful
world, a perfect
world,
does not always
see the bright side

Nay,
too often it is
the dark she sees,

Not rainbows
and stars,
but what lies
beneath the smile,

The danger hidden in
the warm embrace,
and the hunger
that resonates
in the deep, dark caverns of
the belly

And you wonder
why her art
has woven itself
into beautiful forms
befitting more
an angel than a
demon

It is so she
will not be afraid
of the emptiness
so she can
convince herself
that there is
really more to
life than
this:

The poet is really
useless
cannot do anything more
than write
cannot wish for anything more
than life

What life she has
is embedded in
her poetry
and what poetry she has
is only snatched from life
who once upon a time
has stolen her
from herself