When my heart was in the obituary,
When I was too wordy and dumb,
When my eardrum ruptured,
Because of the clamorous silence in my soul,
Poetry was my ENT!
When I was such ravenous,
And my eyes were unseeing,
When my vigour distorted,
And claret clotted,
Poetry was my optic.
When the pulling bonds weakened,
And the snout bled love,
When my bones broke,
And my jaws cold,
Poetry was my orthopedist.
I will never forget the times
Poetry had been there for me!!
Originally posted on ArtHut via http://arthut.com.ng/viewBlog?hid=hi67tg97ys5n13m637i&data=insight