Every time I suffer, I write betterer than before

Every time I suffer, I write betterer than before.

By Tony DeLorger © 2011

The soul of a poet is a fragile thing,

words gleaned from the travesties of life,

where everything looks shiny on the outside,

but black with large jagged teeth on the inside.

And yet it is my dismal days of pain and anxiety

that inspires my greatest work,

blood the essence of the ink laid on virgin pulp.

No ear did I dismember, no cries of pain ensue,

just the ache of a heart torn,

by the cruel and often ironic twists of life.

These yield my words of wisdom,

my souls yearning for truth unencumbered,

the righting of wrongs and the balance of worlds.

I am but a puppet of my heart,

open and vulnerable to the darkest thoughts,

the most beauteous visions and the deepest loves,

the wildest possibilities

and a never-ending hope for peace.

I am a poet and my words grace the page through a million tears,

the pain of life and the ecstasy of potential,

and the pure and singular passion for love.

I paint pain on a page and turn it to whimsy,

take death in mind and turn it into life,

take misery and angst and turn it into beauty,

take hope and turn it into reality.

The soul of a poet is a fragile thing,

the more it breaks, the more its true nature is revealed,

and words, like snowflakes on a white canvas,

meld into possibility.

Every time I suffer, I write betterer than before.