A poet would know how to craft words that sooth the soul after a crushing defeat.
A poet would possess the unique ability to plumb the depths of our depression for
something magical and healing, a precious kernel of knowledge so bright and
sparkling that its reflection would dazzle, even in the absence of light.
A poet would see through the shadows, to the lessons within tragic circumstance.
A poet would peel away the strips of darkness that block our clouded vision,
revealing infinite possibilities so brilliant and inspirational that our voices
have no choice but to burst into glorious, hopeful songs of redemption.
A poet would collect the debris from our dreams and the detritus from our broken hearts.
A poet would weave those leavings into a comforting blanket so soft and warm that
even pain and fear melt away, like snow leaves a mountain peak scorched by the sun
after a harsh, bitter winter, disappearing into streams washing the season into Spring.
In moments of pain, disbelief, and stunned silence, we thirst for that magical poet.
In moments when darkness swallows light, when we need a poet to tend and mend our
broken souls, we must gather ourselves together and hold one another close.
We will become a collective of poets, our own sanctuary without walls; that is our choice.
