Today I Want to Write in the Voice of the Poet

Today I want to write . . .
in the voice of the poet
who speaks the language of the universe.

Not my own voice
which strangles itself
with criticism, fear and doubt.

Today I want to write
the language of contrasts
where flowers bloom
amidst the sadness
of an elderly man
who has lost his way
and can no longer enjoy the spring.

Not my own voice
of sadness
at the slow disappearance of my father.

Today I want to write
with the ease of the artist
who finds the flow of words and
images poured from a powerful pool
filled with creative force.

Not my own voice
which dips a toe in slowly
. . .

slowly

. . .
afraid of the whirlpool
of possibility.

Today I want to write
of fun and laughter
of new-found friends
and loneliness dispersed.

Not my own voice
where emotional distance grows
despite physical proximity
and silent voice gets lost in the noise.

Today I want to write
in the voice of the Poet.

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