Prompt: I am not a poet, living is the poem / I am not a singer, I am in the song / And I've got a story that I cannot write down / And I'm with you but I'll always be alone / I may not be right, but I don't think I am wrong ~ Melanie Safka, "I Am Not a Poet (Night Song)" by pygmymuse. Why Poetry
I swear, I’ll write you some prose off this prompt. Just not this time.
Liana Mir
Liana Mir reads, writes, and wrangles the muses from her mundane home in the Colorado Rockies and, occasionally, from the other side of the Barrier.
Flight of a Wild Mare
You’re riding me hard, and I’m put away wet. / My soul like His cloak is a gamble, a bet.
Lyric
Poem
Lyric
Poem
If living is poetry, then am I dead?
I’m down in the trenches where iron is red.
I’m running like stallions through mountains have fled.
You’re riding me hard, and I’m put away wet.
You’re riding me hard, and I’m put away wet.
My soul like His cloak is a gamble, a bet.
My heart, it defies me; I’m shackled in debt.
How do I flick off the fly of the world?
How do I flick off the fly of the world
When desires within me are good and bad swirled?
Within me a wild mare’s mane comes unfurled.
I’m running like stallions through mountains have fled.
I’m running like stallions through mountains have fled.
I’m down in the trenches where iron is red.
If living is poetry, then am I dead?
My living is blood and sinew and sweat.
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Lyric
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