I don't generally write poetry but every decade or so I am hit by an urge to 'out' something in a 'poetic style'
but, shhh, I've never shared before!This decade, since I was hit by an urge to 'out' around the time I joined this forum I, rather wickedly, thought I'd share
I wasn't sure if what I'd written really came under the umbrella of poetry, as I seem to remember from school something about meter, and of course, rhyme.
But when I looked up the definition of poetry, it seem to be quite open and like visual art, it's measure appears more to be in the eye of the beholder. And since art stretches from doodle to masterpiece, I hope my 'out' might just qualify.
Here then is my poet doodle!
My lover? Yes he is my lover,
But also as my fathers and my sons,
Dimension twisted melted,
Generation but a single flame,
And when entwined, body and mind,
A voyeur I become to his soul,
A spinning cosmos,
A nightmare vastness,
A stilling eternity,
That is his nature,
And I do not want to see.
You know this creature?
You have me wrong!
He has little virtue but loyalty,
Little morality but soul deep love.
True, he is a warm host,
At that curious place death,
So some know him by that name,
Others call him joy.
On the day he welcomes me that way,
Beyond anywhere he’ll take me,
And set me down on Babylon’s living rock,
I’ll crouch and shiver,
My arms around my naked body wrapped,
Uncomforted,
I’ll relive a thousand life times,
Be remembered to myself,
But what?
What is the point of that?
Mortal me,
I do not want to see.