The only poems

Dear god, thank you.

I bow for the poems that saw

The rising of the sun;

Poems that behaved like breaking petals:

Definitions of birth.

Poems that saw mirth of days:

Poems that were painted with the rainbow.

Thanks for the poems that

Struck the skulls and broke off:

The poems that crushed the throats

Because they could no longer

Take threats coupled with pretence.

Thanks for the breaking of dawn:

The sun- the womb that carries new ink;

Irksome are closed poems.

We bow for every pen tip that

Kissed between the lines with passion.

We bow for every motion and mark:

Tanks brimming with meaning.

Yanks of positive affirmations.

Oh! Soul constructions.

Oh! Solomons of pages.

Oh! Breakers of cages.

We bow to the poems that left wombs.