Where will we travel today, my dear friend
Before dusk-blue shadows are cast?
Will we push toward life’s elusive ‘next-bend?’
Or return by your touch, to the past?
Will we, by the vexing persuasion of ink
Ponder the cold facts that exist?
Or will we succumb and slip over the brink
To arms of loved ones, dearly missed?
Will we probe the oracles shaping our want?
Or want nothing but what we hold?
Will we by the power of word-whispered jaunt
Revel where the moon blazes cold?
Darling, I love you for I cannot tell
Wherever or how we might go
And thought is an ocean that no hand can quell
Nor tether its free-falling flow
We are capable my love, of the worst
Just as we are of life’s best
Ah poet, ah pen, are we graciously cursed
Or dearly and divinely blessed?
A pen is a vehicle we all can afford
What blessing it then surely must be
That we traverse fathoms with nothing but word
Spilling into poetry
© Janet Martin