Poetry: My Life Is on the Line

MY LIFE IS ON THE LINE

“I gotta write.”
The reflection in the mirror
Throws her a smile of complicity.
The face that she sees
And the voice that she hears
Bear the mark of something new,
Something she had missed the night before.
And today, as she realizes it,
The eyes become brighter;
The mouth is ready to expel the truth.
But, the hand wants to speak first...

“I have to write.”
The pen is here, accessible,
Willing, like a doting slave,
To receive orders from her fingers.
And the sheet of paper,
Tenderly laid on the table,
Seems to invite the words,
The sentences and the lines to flourish.
In a sensual embrace,
Skin and paper meet and fall in love.

“These lines are my life.”
And tears of joy wet the piece,
Drowning the stanzas into a sea of promises.
That girl becomes a woman,
A spirit with a mission,
A mind reconciled with God,
And a lyricist of a new kind.

For I am she, and she is I,
Who, long ago, nearly
Forgot her paradise,
Thinking that her life was on the line,
Because she did not know,
That Love is in essence,
The true messenger of the soul.

©2009 Cendrine Marrouat