The Poem

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THE POEM

I am a living spring of words
gushing from a vocal cord
for scurrying feet and parched throats to gulp
for I stream like Niagara falls
down where I peruse your gut
leaving you with earworms
to wriggle in your eardrums
long after the spawn of a studio session.

I am the conjuring of metaphors, ironies, puns, similies
laced with onomatopoeias that BANG!
on your door
with a piece(peace) offering of euphoria
and opium-like musings
sending you on your way to utopia.

I am the griots peace(piece) of mind,
your pick between the lines
when you are piqued to read between the punch lines,
the darted pieces strewn across the poet's mind
that he correlates,
the "finger snap"  worthy performances
that makes you relate,
the strings you attach to his pen
in the middle of an open mic session
as I reveal how your pain gains it's antedote.

I am the hard hitting verses
mapping their way into your auditory system
the signed post of a lover's heart
the guiding light to society's misconstruing,
the griot's tale uttered with sagacity
and in the face of adversity
I am the forklift for your weary heart,
some call me temerity.

But you can call me the harkened verdict of the muse
the wordsmith deduces, uses, and infuses
into stanza and rhythms
to help you navigate life and it's pandora's boxes.

Many call me the poet
but I am the Poem.