The answer is in the bubble

You ask me ...

Can I love you

as I do my writing,

my poetry?

So I ask you in response ...

Can you take me "home",

accept me as I am,

and inspire me as words do?

Your look is questioning,

I see it in your eyes,

the thoughts that cross your mind;

so please let me explain

Writing poetry is ...

the solitude in my noisy life,

the warm cup of soup when I am ill,

strong arms that hold me when I sleep alone,

music that drowns out criticism,

the gentle tissue that wipes away my tears,

encouragement to climb the most rugged mountain,

strength to leap in the knowledge I may fall,

a magical suit of armour to face my fears,

a kaleidoscope of colours to guide me through dark passages,

the whispers of understanding when I am confused,

laughter in a time of sadness or despair,

and fireworks exploding in the sky,

as I watch excitedly from within my travelling bubble of security and belief.

Writing poetry is ...

nourishment for the hungry soul,

a compass through hopes and dreams,

a landfill of promise

Truth spills from the pen ...

raw, bare

and unencumbered

by veils of ambiguity

So I ask you ...

is this the type of home you would build for my heart?

And if you think it is ...

then yes, I could love you as my writing

But remember ...

this bubble does not burst;

Are you brave enough

to promise the same?

(c) Dianne Traynor  5 October 2012

(c) Photography courtesy of Bryan Kidd