tongues cut from the poets, the poets are hushed
our thoughts evaporate, our vision crushed
the dark nights scold and souls tear
our aching hearts broken, beyond repair

lament for the poets, for the poets are chastised
into dark pools of guilt, waiting to be baptized
gentle lambs long for when we can write
by the harshest glare, shedding all kinds of light

we stare at the doom of an empty white sheet
in hopes of creating something complete
subconscious mining memories unfold
spinning our threads of what’s untold

now that the poets are given a voice
I shred my cocoon and embrace the choice
passion rooted like a weeping willow tree
blessed, I must forgive the sinner in me

Give us, O mother of poets and sisters of men
the courage to write our truth forever, Amen
for scarred are the poets whose hearts bleed
we are called upon to heal, as we are freed

L.K. Thayer

Pencil Drawing of L.K. Thayer by Thor Klaassen

Netherlands © 2012