A Poetic Excess In My Head

There is a poetic excess in my head

like my daily bread

the mind lets out

what the soul can no longer hold.

Ripping the bandages off old wounds

no time to heal comes too soon

like a reflection of the moon 

on still waters running deep

in the voice of a child who cries herself to sleep.

There is a poetic excess in my mind

painting a picture

of the stories between me and my dead

telling tales
sometimes best left unsaid.

There is a poetic excess in my head
of possibility and probability
of what might have been and what could still be
drowning me in its endless sea.

Spirits walk through my dreams

reminding me to look at all those things unseen

words unsaid

between us and our dead.

There is a poetic excess in my head

the children of earth

over and over given to birth
and all these lessons we try so hard to learn.