When lost love drives a poet’s pen, <br />Who could ever condescend? <br /> <br />Lost love drives us <br />To drink or poetry— <br /><i>Anything</i> to fill the hole, <br />To vent a raging heart <br />Penned in a solitary cage, <br />Its bars made blackly visible <br />When a beloved leaves! <br /> <br />If writing out <br />a string of words <br />In blood or ink <br /> <br />Helps a soul to bear the burden, <br />Helps to relieve pain’s potion, <br />Diluting it by sharing <br />With a sea of drinking minds <br />In some kind of sacred homeopathy, <br /> <br />Then worship such a poem! <br /> <br />If rhyme is all the order <br />A poet’s skeletal life <br />Can cling to, for awhile, <br />Then celebrate such rhyme! <br /> <br />If only pens could heal like wands! <br />More likely, <i>therapeia</i> comes <br />From sober visions in the mirror <br />Made of words that flow from wounds, <br /> <br />Parting the clouds that hide us <br />From our own predicament: <br />Then it’s time to get to work— <br />To face another sunrise, <br />See what Providence may bring.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-lost-love-drives-a-poet-s-pen/
