I was awakened this morning by the sounds of the street.
Words echoed in my head as if leaping off the walls of the Grand Canyon which I call deep sleep.
And I arose racing for pen and paper to record the coming messages which were lost temporarily because of early morning mundane tasks like washing the dirty clothes which filled the washer.
Time flew and the hours passed as chore after chore multiplied.
I thought my head would burst and the sounds of my rapidly beating heart would be heard by the world.
What loud songs the ego plays while I struggle to make sense of my latest tragedy.
No verse would come back and I am saddened by its’ momentary loss because of enflamed emotions which deter from the peace I require in my attempts at creativity.
Is this not whoredom am I pimping or prostituting?Do my eyes deceive and my lips lie to gain your attention?
Your attention once gained is drawn to the real whore, she is beautiful, seductive and wanton.
All lust filled eyes envision themselves upon her.
And I smiling advertise her price which border upon luxurious extravagance.
She is after all mine, and her name is poetry.
I live to love her, to perhaps earn from her activities but most of all to parade her upon the stroll.
I am no pimp or Madame.
I am her lover.
Poetry my passion is you.
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Nowdays,(a little wiser)I drop in an instant anything that gets in my way of writing down an incoming idea ,thought ,line ,excetra....mine too come in the early hours.We should do a survey and ask the poets here if that is when they get their ideas too,it is very interesting to me,I have asked a few poets and they say they get ideas coming to them as they wake up mornings or through the night.Does anyone know why that is?
Your poem is very good....next time have pen and paper ready to write .
Best wishes always and thanks for your very original poem.