April is Poetry Month!

I realized when I was very young how some words got stuck in my heart. The only way to dislodge the words that gathered was to write them. Perhaps I merely continue writing them as they’ve forever been written – with gleams from a heartbeat.

GLEAMS FROM A HEARTBEAT

Being different, and alone from the mainstream, dims light within.
Words fill up the blank pages of our souls.
Phrases spill as we grab for our pens.
For perhaps there is no other trace of us –
other than skeletal remains.
Yesteryear’s scratches have carved rocks,
and scrawled parchment –
to tell of us.
As generations press us across time,
we looked in both directions.
Then we looked up into the heavens.
We became less alone – for we all saw the same thing.
In the past we’d shared our caves with long-tailed lizards.
We were described as ancients –
we were sequestered and chained to earth.
Throughout existence, we’ve known the lies of prejudice.
Bloody, dripping paint splashes told of wild beasts.
Miniscule were the advancements we craved.
For we loved differently.
Our mistakes surely came from wild roots,
and amulets filled with holy sparkling gems.
Paths crossed,
and different symbols and marks were traded.
Plunderers burned and shredded many sequels.
Only destiny sheltered us between vast rainbows.
Erosion might have been all that saved us
as the facade disrobed – then shattered.
Beyond the altars, behind the fossils of our parents,
our secret had been hidden.
Tragedians called our souls twisted.
Dark Ages listed us as wicked.
Now we are compounded, raw materials
upon shelves of sand.
We are still misfits of the biosphere.
We tour the solar system by invitation only.
Strangers we are to Everything beyond.
We tread our gravitational field as we must.
On the floor of our planet,
we share our lectures.
Other cannonballs, those planets above,
jeer back at us.
They watch our mirrored probes
as if we are disenfranchised.
For we are still cloistered nomads of the atmosphere.
Beyond the visible, we take the invisible’s pulse.
Magnetic, our rocky rubble is the earth’s clothing.
We change styles with each rendezvous.
We gouge and dig the cliff’s robes.
We prod the folded mountainous shawls.
We plunge into the depth
of our ocean’s liquid wading pools.
Although guests ourselves,
we pretend to be planetary hosts.
Yet we fear emptiness as we voyage the stars.
We know rejection as we crawl the globe’s paths.
Our scrapbooks fall open with disheveled guesses.
We ignore both earth’s nucleus, and our own.
Our naked eyes witness the same bright dots
that were once examined from cave porches.
Our enzymes from loins of long ago
have been scooped and examined.
Our scroll of DNA has named us.
Molecules of chaos have been chiseled from flesh.
We are genetically misspelled samples.
However, we’ve survived the bonfires.
The hazing, the horrors – they have emboldened us.
We can share who we are with cursive alphabets,
with keys of electricity,
and with speeding waves of energy.
Most of us can now acknowledge our spirit’s rhetoric.
I can present myself to you.
I am Sapphic,
and my words are gleams from a heartbeat

COPYRIGHT: Kieran York

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 Please check out my poetry in the best-selling poetry collection, Sappho’s Corner Poetry Series: Roses Read, Volume 3 and Wet Violets, Volume 2. edited by Beth Mitchum, the books are available through http://ultravioletlove.com and Amazon.

If you are interested in romantic fiction, please consider Appointment with a Smile by Kieran York. Books are available through wwwbluefeatherabooks.com. Or order through Bella Books Distribution for books or e-books. Books and Kindle e-books are available through Amazon.