It's National Poetry Month!

Poetry is where it all started for me.  It was the first avenue of storytelling that I embraced.  And even though my imagination is filled with "Para-Fantasy" characters and plots, I can't help but return to my roots and write a poem every now and then.

I can remember having journals full of poems - nothing on the level of Maya or Langston, but they were my thoughts.  And I knew exactly what they meant and what situation or event they were tied to.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I thought that I would share one of my favorites.  

This is Lost Souls from Letters to Langston: A Poetic Journal 

Have you ever met a “Man”?  I mean a real man - except he wasn't your man?   

Have you witnessed the magic in passing of commanded attention that could only be the result of a “Man’s” presence?

I think my soul mate was Tupac, Heath Ledger, Jimmy Hendrix or another one of those lost souls that never quite made it to me.  

Plagued by a passion to create just like me, destined to stand out just like me.  

But tormented by what’s missing, just like me.  

Not trying to hit rock bottom covered with ashes to ashes and dust to dust, but missing the connection to me.

Tired of waiting…feeling like I must have missed the him that is for me…maybe in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Or caught up in the wrong charm or the wrong arms when he came looking for me.    

Dreaming bits and pieces of his identity, but still praying for his existence, missing someone I’ve never met having to end all my hopes with the word “yet”.  

Loving God for all that He is, but real enough to admit I want a physical partner on this walk. 

Situation simply complicated - spiritually physical but supposedly continually being resolved.  

He is on his way…but if I missed the first delivery will we cross paths again in this realm?  

I’m convinced it must have been Tupac, Heath Ledger, Jimmy Hendrix or another one of those lost souls that never quite made it to me.  

The warm presence of where he should be in my life is unforgettable as the passion, the fire of my hope that he finds me slowly dims.  

We are confined to the freedom of the wind only to encounter each other unknowingly in passing.