I’m not a poet, she said
\nI can’t say pretty things, like that, she said.
\nI smiled at her, because she just had.<\/p>\n
My inside-city is beautiful in its moonlight
\nAnd towers majestically in the noon sun
\nI wander its maze wearing a grin.<\/p>\n
I am a large man, in shape and presence
\nI am a good man, in emotion and deed
\nI am a man, and knowing this grounds me.<\/p>\n
My war hammer taps my leg as I walk
\nAching to be used, now that it’s out.
\nI pat it fondly, my rage and anger.<\/p>\n
I have found patience, in my heart.
\nI have found solace, in my city.
\nI have found myself, within myself.<\/p>\n
My wings flex and stretch, yearning for flight
\nAchievement has always made me feel good
\nI fall off the cliff, laughing like a madman.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I’m not a poet, she said I can’t say pretty things, like that, she said. I smiled at her, because she just had. My inside-city is beautiful in its moonlight And towers majestically in the noon sun I wander its … Continue reading