Poetry has a silent power 

In the way that poets 

don’t need words to communicate 

With one another; 

We simply see a wildflower 

I’d like a palmful of metaphors, 

Ones to use every time 

I put a pen to a page, 

To plant in my heart 

And become submerged in my hope, 

I would like to hope

That before there was a sky

Bleeding stars,

Before there were planets

Polluted with creation,

That there was still the beating heart