Lend my your ears;
you men of my stage,
Lend me your eyes,
you women of my stage,
give me your all for treatment.
I am a Clinician,
Clinician of poetic inks,
the ink my stethoscope;
with pages my thermometer,
whilst I play on the syringe of my fingers.
I see in you your worries;
I feel in your souls your pains,
I hear in your sweat beats your emotions;
give me your all,
grant me your will,
that I would write your all away.
Poetry is health—
poetry is love—
poetry is a healing contagion—
poetry is soul consoling—
poetry is genuine life upon life—
But as a Clinician of this art,
as a lover of your souls;
as a life saver of this cause,
let me wipe your pains with my ink;
that your souls would regain life in abundance of inspiration.
The Village Thinker © 2014