A Place In Your Poetry

I can't meet the poetry

You build in every breath—

A garden of verses blooming

Where I am but a shadowed guest.

I can't hold the poetry

You craft from quiet air,

A silence you turn sacred—

But I find no meaning there.

I can't bear the poetry

That dances without my name,

Even when the world is heavy,

You write, yet I stay the same.

You breathe in beauty,

And spill it with grace,

But your lines forget my presence,

Like a tear you didn’t trace.

So I stand outside your rhythm,

Knocking at your door,

Longing not to read your poetry—

But to be what you write for.