Poetry

(The title is a bit cliché I know, but I'm not now nor have I ever been good at coming up with titles.  Hopefully you find the poem itself more intriguing). =)

I've come to the conclusion that WE are one.
We don't write in words, but in scripts and verses.
We separate our diversity from others.  Now We.
Are like no other.
We move in a new direction.
And if there was ever such a thing,
We ARE perfection.
And everything that flows is our reflection.
And this is what divides us from THEM,
into our own persona's.
Now on judgement day, the judge will look at me and say,
"Did you believe in me?" 
My response, "I did not, and this I am guilty of your honor."
But you see, I had all these spears being thrown at me from Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa,
to Christmas day and Christmas Eve. 
How was I to know which one to believe?
And it wasn't 'til I died that I realized you were more than just a fairytale.
You were a novel I couldn't yet read.  A lyrical book, filled with more than a thousand hooks, reaching melodies that carried out way beyond my vocal abilities.
And it wasn't 'til I died that I realized this is why you installed these lyrics mechanically inside of me.
You were more than what was ever preached to me.
You were my pain.  You were my happiness.
You allowed the alphabet to flow through me and create passages
written so poetically.
You.  This Man.  This Poetry.

And then I fell in love with You.  This Man.  This poetry.
See WE. We have this sort of unspoken love.  The kind where WE don't have sex, and WE don't make love.
And still.  Our love is love.
We lay on this bed of papyrus paper as my pen caresses you and your ink undresses me.
And then we lay as one on this papyrus sheet.
Now I am impregnated.
The thoughts that burst inside of me from you,
travel through my veins.
Nourishment from soul, protection driven by hope.
As this being, this life, grows inside; I feel strength, I feel high, and for once I feel alive.
And damn, I know I'm not a bird and yet I feel as if I could fly.
Could all that really be the truth?  What they taught me in church?
But in the midst of my thoughts, I began to give birth.
As quickly as it began, it was over.
As soon as I held her, I knew that I loved her.
Created from me and You.  This Man.  This Poetry.

I looked down at her.  This art.  Our daughter.
Every curl and swirl of every letter is so finely written.
One thought that follows the next thought.
How every fragment just seems to fit in.
Decked in onomatopoeia's, verbs, nouns, and similes.
And when she cries, she doesn't cry.  She bellows.  No.  Matter of fact, she screams.
She screams to be read or so it would seem.
But she really screams to not be forgotten and remain more than just a well written memory.
Though she flows from me, she knows who she was created by.
You.  This Man.  This Poetry.

And then I woke up.  It was only a dream.
Strongest dream I've ever had about You.  This Man.  This Poetry.
Although I still can't believe in things unseens, I vow to try and change my outlook on things.
I've decided that I don't want for me to have to die to realize you are more than just a dream in the middle of the night that came to me.
You.  This Man.  This Poetry. 
You are larger than life and you are greater than me.
Then I look to the right of me and the infant from my dreams is laying on the the table just off to the side of me.
And as I lifted her up, she didn't cry, she didn't bellow.  No.  This baby screamed.
At this moment I knew you really were more than just a dream that came to me in my sleep.
You were an author, and an illustrator, and I was your documentor.
So today I decided to get my act right before I am forgotten.
Because I know I will either leave or be left and I swear to You.  This Man.  This Poetry.
That I don't want to be left with the rest.
And now I contemplate was this given to me genetically?
Or was it given to me by You.  This Man.  This Poetry.