Because it has to be part
Of your life.
You can’t draw
Waters of enchantment
From a polluted well.
I’m not saying
You have to be perfect—
I’m not,
But writers, like priests,
Should have compassion
And sensitivity to pain
And isolate
Because it’s in the desert
Where you open
The access to your heart
And write down
What your voice is whispering.
Priests of old
Needed to be unblemished…
But you can be flawed
You can write
About monsters,
But don’t be one—
Not if you want
To write about love.
Everywhere you look
The universe is open to you;
Succumb.
Poetry is paying attention to life
When all the rest of the world
Is asleep
To its beauties and truths.
Allow yourself
To become enchanted;
Loosen your dreams
And become undone.
