Ah poetry.
Who would take another lover
who has poetry to softly
whisper sonnets
into their open ear.
To fall upon the face of
and give in
to the moving waves,
as though poetry
were a door to heaven.
Who would want,
otherwise
when poetry
is both emotion,
and emotion’s relief.
To those for whom poetry
is the lover
and the beloved,
the expression and silent receipt
of some sacred gift –
poetry is,
inexpressible comfort
and fuel to the flame
that burns within,
a voracious wick.
Ah poetry
who would take another lover
who has poetry to softly
whisper sonnets
into their open ear.
To fall upon the face of
and give in
to the moving waves,
as though poetry
were a door to heaven.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2018
‘A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.’
Robert Frost
