We Are Not Merely Poets

Some of us are secretive at first. We hide our poetry’s soul self,

gently letting her peep out; sometimes regretting it immediately.

Fearful of critiques from people who do not understand that poetry

is something we are compelled and born to do with our feelings.

Your diary entries may form themselves into goodness or badness

before you realize your calling as a poet.

Truths shockingly ooze out, surprising you.

Feelings creep out onto a page, in loud angry letters,

or romantic feelings daintily brush onto a crisp lined page

in the form of sweetness and light.

You are a word player, because you cannot

stop this obsession, but it does not define you.

This poetry gig is but a glimmer of a glimpse of yourself.

You might be a caregiver, or a wonderful friend.

People who count on your smile every day may not realize

you have a love affair with words, and an obsession to write them.

We are each a unique jewel, mined from God’s mind.

Poetry may initiate a whisper of a tiny facet of ourselves,

but our secrets are safe. We not merely poets. We are lovers

of life, and words. Most importantly, we remain gloriously hidden

and unknown to sanctity