Poetry; A Sestina

I find when I’m writing poetry

that it becomes easier to breathe. 

when my thoughts are set free,

when I finally begin to write,

it’s a relief to set down

everything I hold. as they cool -

these heated thoughts, as they cool -

these flaring words, I find poetry

among the lines I’ve laid down

on the page. room to breathe, 

space to grow, when I write 

the chaos inside can flow free

and find order, feel as free

as it feels to inhale cool, 

autumn air. the words I write,

are not, on their own, poetry 

like lungs, alone, do not breathe. 

from all of us, deep down, 

comes the force of living, down 

beyond the earth, our trust free

falling. after each exhale we breathe,

certain our lungs will welcome cool

inhales again and again, a poetry

in itself, an understanding to write 

is to feel deeper, to write 

is to lay the words down

and hope they’ll emerge as poetry 

the way petals slowly, surely free

themselves from tight fists into cool

morning air, and to finally breathe 

with no constraint, to finally breathe 

with certainty and to finally write 

like rivers, streams steady and cool 

pouring out from within, flowing down

through all of life’s landscapes, free

to be and to become poetry