Scribble

I want to feel love just to know it
So I can illustrate the words correctly
I’m a false poet—
Bereft of a universal knowledge
And I cannot write without this hallowed privilege
Or truly be alive without this passion of the ages
My pen might as well write inkless pages

Scribble furiously to discover
Pen and paper are my sole lovers
Cannot express it to another
Pen and paper are my sole lovers

Without experience my words are but hollow lies
Sound without fury, inarticulate sighs
To write is to breathe life and I am gasping for air
Because the miracle of love has yet to appear
How can I speak to the world with a held tongue?
It’s like knowing a song that’s never been sung

Scribble furiously to discover
Pen and paper are my sole lovers
Cannot express it to another
Pen and paper are my sole lovers

I want to know what it is like to drown in the moon
To love too strongly or love too soon
That hate is the only recourse
Then I can stretch my arms, wrap them about this force
And put in practice what poets have done for so long
Weaving their brief lives through eternal songs

Scribble furiously to discover
Pen and paper are my sole lovers
Cannot express it to another
Pen and paper are my sole lovers