Poetry and Progress

A Poem by Jackson DD

Poetry, I say now to you,

My thoughts racing,

My heart shaking and my lungs quaking

Is not an easy life

It rolls of the silver tongue of the man in the gallows

It forms in the rotting teeth of the woman in an alleyway

It comes from the heart of the child hidden away in the closet

For we do not praise those who have drunk Kvasir’s mead

We do not lift up those who have been blessed from Loki’s scorched tongue

We banish them to the depths of their morbid mind and claw out their heart

Or, perhaps, the more feasible truth,

Poetry comes from those depths of morbid mind

And poetry comes from the hole without a heart

Poetry will come to you

When life decides it wants to be rid You

I cannot say for certain that it has gotten rid of me

For the life of a poet is never easy

And I say this to you now,

As my bed swallows me whole

And my thoughts grow worrisome

And sleep seems so comforting and pleasant

That my words flow from my dry mouth

From the hallow pit of my empty stomach

From my Perfect dying heart

That my poems come from places they do not wish to go

I built my own gallows

I darkened my own alleyway

And I closed my closet door

And I didn’t find Poetry

So perhaps the man in the gallows isn’t the only one

And my woman in the alleyway isn’t the end all be all

And my child in the closet only has to open the door

And the poetry comes from escaping

It shouts out when the gallows split

And the alleyway opens up

And the door unlocks

Poetry, I say to you now,

My breath steady,

My heart rhythmatic and my lungs stilling,

Is a handsome art

And it will come in the gallows and out

In the alleyway and in a building

In a closet and in a room

You do not have to suffer to be beautiful

You do not need to hurt to sing

If you have it, you will find your voice

In every cranny of your precious heart

The life of a poet is brutal and beautiful and full of heartbreak and reconstruction

And you, my young poet, are bound to make it