Poetic Reason.

I wish I was daring as a hat, the hat that is placed on
My head; the heart that beats like a sad remembrance of
Things wanted, things that are ashamed. I cannot know
What it is I have reflected, a genius of sorts, a prodigy
Of the mind. Sometimes,
I cry out in the lonely night, wishing for a spark of genius
To strike me; most of the time, there is nothing but memories,
Flitting like a butterfly in my mind. I try to wipe it away,
Try to hold it back, but there is nothing more than a sparrow
Pushing me forward, holding onto the rhythm of something
That is not as likely as it seems.
What happened to the beat of my heart? What happened to
The gentle understanding that comes with sharp rain?
I am not whole again, my heart does not beat steady.
In the night, I often see spirits that haunt me, like bitter reveries
In a night storm, my mother always in my mind.
Words are like poetry; they move me to enter the door,
Swinging in an arc.
Why do I like poetry? There is no rhyme or reason,
A simple day that gathers rain.