This poem resonate the grandness of poesy from the evaluation of a poet who stir evidently at problem, biting in between the arteries and vein without repairs until he found solacement from poetry written by another poets. In those lines were words spice with inspirations that transfix the author’s soul to evince how eloquent and dynamic God authored poetry, and in him, crafted out poets with biting fluency in such field. In this poem, the author captured his emotional and psychological changes after going through another author’s work. At the fifth line, he restate the functional abnormality, sadness and depression that would have eat him up. However, thanks to his colleague work. At the end, the speaker expressed the popularity of a mighty being who’s biting eloquency is now running through poets.
The cud I rechewed // in the
riverside // was from a sett of dreadful
hemlock // that struck the aquifers of my soul.
Blight glue my night // as mournful
as the grave-in my streets // silence defeats me.
I weep formaldehyde // I would go mad
—naked // struggling for precision.
Until I bite through the pages
of poesy // that charges the sapless pulse in my arteries:
hope has feathers and many more.
In those poems I chew away
murderer’s hand // lurking around my shadows
& ravaging it beyond repair.
In a short while // I would calligraph
about God // for crafting out
poets // who are small “god” in his
image // I envied // yet, I’m a poet.
Damn me if I ever doubt that
poetry is a panacea for poets.