I Was Born Into A Poem

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I was
born into
a
poem
with
the
comfort
of
nouns,
prepositions,
as
they
linger
inĀ  between
what
is meant
to be
said,
and what is
needed to
be written.

They
always
seem
to provide
the
warmth
of
a summer’s
days,
full
of Earth’s
canvas,
or the
lazy
river-style
life
that my
grandmother
spoke
of
during
her slave
days.

I was
born
into
a
poem to
recite
deep
and hearty
verses,
and
spit
truth
to truth
with teeth
that
grip and
rip
at
sentences
too long to
read
with human
tones.

My calling
is simple:

a poet’s work
is
never done
unless he
or she
writes it
so.

See,
I was born
into
poem
to embellish
the likes
of words,
sounds,
and
the love
that
each
drop into
your
heart.

M.C. Davis

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