The boy who lost his mother gnarled like a bear—
tough bear he.
Away from the bestial,
he had softness in his eyes that laughed
even when he and his words were sharp
and sometimes ambiguous.
He showed the plumpness of his belly to his closest friends
and grunted like a pig and poet
laughing behind his scars
with eagerness to taste color from afar.
He took from the sunglow like an artist hunched at his easel
and painted everyone—
even the ones who had no power to imagine.
He painted deaf-mutes with love that ran down his breast,
ripping chords from the constellations
and opening creation’s ingenious blindness
to music that volleyed beyond his art that transcended ages
and volleys still
in us all.
Thanks for reading.
That’s all for now. Peace and love to all my readers.
This post “The Poet, Poem 006-2023-0112” copyright © 2023 Steven Leo Campbell at stevecampbellcreations.com – All rights reserved.