i.

deep down,
you have always
been a poet—
you, who taste
the sweetness of syllables,

you, who hear
chirping consonants,
warm words kissed against skin,
like embers coaxed slowly
into being.

you, who see
similes rain from heaven,
metaphors streak across dark skies,
illuminating the weight
we carry.

through anguish, through hope,
let every word rise,
a light in the dark,
a flame in the cold,
a song of becoming.

write for love, for life,
for all the joy
in this wild, wide Universe.
let poems guide us home,
for we are Love, and Love is poetry.

lex