How the poet becomes man

Over the past few weeks, my love of humanity

has increased to such a point 

that I see no point, no right in 

deed or fact, to continue justifying my 

[he]art’s right to express itself, as

before 

it has done; as

before 

it once sung.

A writer of my ilk best expresses himself through

the word he loves and lives, but when this is

unheard, or even blatantly 

ign

ored, the man who wishes to speak with 

other soul and part

is the man who is left 

quite tethered to his 

last.

And so over the past few weeks, as I come to know – as I come to

appreciate far more truly than 

in my strife 

I ever did before – the reality 

of persons with friendships and lives 

which have nothing to do with me,

and yet pleasurably, kinda vicariously, but

never frightening-

like, I see 

I can also share in good and bad times both, so I realise 

that my discourse, 

of course, must stop – sharp 

shocked.

For if I have learnt to treasure so 

beautiful-

like

my new friends 

who now 

I find around me, 

I cannot 

in all honesty 

continue to imagine others 

in the image I would

like them to be, 

however goodly clever are 

my terms

and reams

and seems

and beens 

of man made poetically.

And so over the past few weeks, I have come to see my 

[he]art has no right 

to claim nor continue 

its attempts and its expressing – even where 

such expressing is 

belovingly well-

meant, with beautiful intent, 

assuredly and more-

i-

sh-

ly 

as fine a class of

ingredients 

as any lesson of finer

recipe – to interfere

any longer with the lives and 

thoughts of 

those who clearly have sought 

only my absence from digital stage.

And so over the past few weeks I have aged.

And though over the past few weeks I am made no sage, 

wiser I am 

become,

dear hun,

to the whys of absolute true men.

And so I discover 

I can live my life without women, 

if needs, after all, do continue to construct my 

be in this fashion and 

way and

day.

I can live my life without women – as maybe I so

deserve to by now; 

even, I must say,

where considering in memory of what once 

I might have meant for 

them grand.

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