by their brilliance: words sprinkled
on a canvas
in their meaning and obsolete in their influence.
I had no connection to their worth
as they were strangers to my intelligence.
To be honest, I found them quiet boring
and to me they were just whoring
They, the words, were dressed up in tight similes
with high heeled diction
cruising around the boulevard of my mind
telling me that they had what I needed
but it would cost me inspiration
for a good time and my complete heart
for a really good time
The poets were their pimps
and these hustlers, the words, worked hard
to get my attention but I avoided
as I refused to be just another john
desperate enough for quickie thought
from a meaningless stanza
until one day I saw those words
and their pimps
One day I begin to see them
dance the language of love,
orchestrate the sound of death
and sing the blues of injustice
I saw deeper and behind the overdone
make-up of meter and begin to understand
They weren’t just splattered any longer–
they were arts of genius who finally lured
me into a mind seduction that stroked
my thoughts and inspired my emotions.
I asked how I too could be a pimp
But I already had become one because they, the words,
started belonging to me.
I became them and they became me
framed together in illustrations of relevance.
Now I am a portrait of a poet
So hang me up and enjoy me,
marvel at the texture of my lyrical voice,
capture the brightness of my sentence structure
and admire the fortitude of my emotion
because my own words have painted me
and now I art-iculate this poetic romance
for the world to see.
© 2015 Revised
Tarringo T. Vaughan