Writer To Writer

You wield that pen to liberate your mind,
I'm caught in fear and sometimes left behind.

       You? A maestro with this score of words? 

       I find your lack of confidence absurd. 

You are the mirror image of myself,
an outlet to promote our common health.

       Indeed, and I am proud to be your friend, 

       Without you what is there to comprehend?

Why do I think of Durden, come
to carry pain this burdensome?

        No, think instead of Ipkiss, and recall

        That romance isn't hopeless at all.

     
You are the brave, inventive pioneer.
I'm sometimes left behind or caught in fear.

        I'm only you, and ours is void critique.

        Now, let's find our voice of confidence, and speak.

Wrapped in Vowels

If I was ever to
compare
you
to
this summer's day, it would be
because

I'd want to
play indefinitely with you.
Relaxing. We'd create
deep poetry together, deep into
the
warm night; wrapping ourselves within the
splendour of vowels, nibbling our mini
picnic of punctuation, happily serving a
life
sentence.
Lost in our lexicon, this labyrinth of love,

until we
finally found the

end. THE
END. (Okay, not the

actual end, Language:
ours will last forever, my love.)

(c) Andrew Halsall Smith, 2018