Long Distance Relationship

When I can no longer reach you
I will become
Poetry.

So I could caress without touch
Become the word not heard
But still spoken.

When I am read, I become what you want me to be
I will have many names
“Hope” and “Love” are most common

I will become
the arms that greet
The end of a long ailment

proven remedy that is endorsed
by those who preach it

When I am uttered in close proximity
I am prayer

When shouted from afar
I am validation

Reciting me
Is an act of worship
And my God is you

I only ask
To be returned to
The same mouth I come from

And when you do
Do not leave

I, Poetry, is a secret gift to you
Strung in code
Wrapped in frocks

Sent in a language
love can reply

**This is a 2008 version of an original poem I wrote in 2005. I think it carries a more mature tone. The Original is somewhat sketchy and lack focus. Damn! Have I grown since! I took a Creative Writing class in my last semester of uni and was cock sure that I'd ace it. I had appalling attendance, which I attributed to bronchitis ( I was out partying 4 nights a week, in my last semester and caught bronchitis aggravated by ciggie smoke) I love poetry. The written word, period. Soothes the soul, no? I think everyone should write. Even if it is rantings, bitchings, musings.. whatever it is. Only when we write them down do they take physical form and become immortal works of our emotions. Plus, we get to read them later on and laugh, cry or marvel at how much we've grown since.**

The Original:

My Promise

When words can no longer reach you
I will read you poetry

Poetry is caress without physical touch
It is the word that is not heard
But still needs to be spoken

When read out it becomes what you want it to be
And goes by many names
“Hope” and “Love” are most common

Poetry is the arms that greet
The end of a long ailment

Proven remedy that is endorsed
By those who preach it

When uttered in close proximity
It is a prayer

When shouted from afar
It is a validation

The reciting of poetry
Is an act of worship
And its God is you

Poetry only asks
To be returned to
The same mouth it came from

And when you do
It never wants to leave

Poetry is my secret gift to you
Strung in code

Wrapped in my frocks
Sent in a language only love can reply

This is why I promise to read you, poetry