Behind The Walls Poem by Bill Cantrell

To express,
What a phenomenal gift
Who can measure the worth,
In a mere greeting?
Where is the one that weighs,
The power of a simple touch?
Both give hope,
Both can open or close,
The gates of life
Yet, without expression,
We are nothing more,
Than a frame frozen,
In still life
Is it just by chance,
That the gates of poetry exist?
So many crossroads in my search
How is it that music,
Continues to escort me here?
More than a feeling,
More than a need,
I find myself kneeling,
At the bed of poetry

Oh how I pity those,
Who know not this road!
Hieroglyphics,
Ineligible to warmth and love,
Always looking,
Yet never getting closure to conclusions

In the calligraphy of feelings,
I speak in verse
With the beating of my heart,
I cast my words in rhythm
With the lines of expression,
I truly seek an exit,
That I may convey a continuity of exchange,
That of a speaker to a listener,
Or a pen to a page,
Or a heart,
To a heart