poetry serves all of life
from shadowed realms where stones seek refuge in fern and dusk
to the nightingale trilling a lonely song
from star emanating a distant farewell
to rising sun dispelling desperate hours
from newborn hope and sweet scent
to longtime friend whose affection has withstood the test of time
from love gone wrong
to love gone right
from ports in the storm, now eroded and damaged
to the sanctuary each new day can bring
poetry serves it all
no corner, no dark teeming space,
no aqua lit-up sky fragrant with filigreed cloud
nor underground pool of stalactite wonder
no emotional tumult
nor deepest calm and steadiness
nor cruelest of criticisms
nor greatest of compassion
neither the height of human aspiration
nor the despair of faithless moments
can hide from poetry's gaze
for, you see
the heart needs to speak
of nuance and beauty
of shadow and light
of the flying bird and
the scampering frog
of the etched, sacred human face
and of divinity made evident in the seasons
in time Herself
in it all
so
let your poet-self speak
call forth the dewdrop hidden in the weeds
the fearless ant lumbering with giant leaf
the sacredness that twinkles in each space and time
in each space and time
in each space and time
let your poet-self speak
Annie Kiyonaga, 2015
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