I Write....

i write...
what is given me to write,
with all consuming fire,
burning every branch of self.
i doubt all...
and therefore believe,
touching the untouchables,
with reverence and awe.
i chant...
with dirty hands plowing,
urine drenched eyes searching,
living beneath all thought.
i mourn...
hearing the lament of dead bodies,
doubled over with hunger,
no place to lay my head.
i burn...
with uncontrolled passion,
for the leaf, for the river,
and the prayers of small children.
i run...
just a dog among dogs,
barking and baying,
with the scent of raw life.
i love...
with hot breath panting,
with both candle and phallus,
the whisper of tender touch.
i fly...
beyond body and bondage,
beyond concrete and ashes,
dark wings seeking light.
i howl...
with pen and paper,
with human words scratching,
at the walls of the tomb!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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