The process of creation can be quite illuminating.

I wrote a love poem recently.

The first line came to me as if gifted by the wind… or the sight of my ex-girlfriend. I see her everyday. She was probably dancing.

The wounds of our destruction were, are, still fresh. It went something like this:

The Poetry in me, sees
The Poetry in you.

Not the most original line in the world… and, its a beautiful sentiment. My ego continued-

The reverse, once
Was also true.

I felt something akin to vindication as I wrote it. Such a martyr for love I am! The rest of that initial discarded draft has been lost to the mists of my memory, but here the falsehood of my emotion is left to bleach beneath the sun.

This was no love poem.

It was an ode to my own victim-hood, in rhyme.

I used to tell her in deed and in verse that loving her was the means to the ends of loving her more deeply. It was the truth, it is the truth. And, in the dark night of the soul, it is easy to lose sight of what is true.

The poetry in me
Will not unsee
She who breathes
Within you.

Your Soul flows
Like light
Through ether.
Everbright.