my love,
    my light
look at you
           those eyes of purity
                                 and trust
         that wrap around my mind like a blanket
oh, to feel your hands
              interlocked with mine
  
my dearest, my dearest, my dearest

my love

You can throw us poets down the stairs
catch us behind your steely glare
teach us that poetry is antiquated
and act all sophisticated
but lyrics will enter your head
dance in circles and hover over your bed
when you sleep you will dream
and your rhymes will come clean
and they will carry a theme.

You can toast a wine glass
to your victory over rhythmic words
but time and time love poetry will fill a class
teachers know it’s not absurd
teenagers will be rebels and they will rap
to music talking over a beat
and their poetry is not crap

poetry is all around us and we come up with it everyday
whether written or spoken
it always will be used in advertising slogans today
and when the silence is broken
remember that poetry was used to convey stories years ago
and the poetry of those stories we know
will stick in your head
like a needle sewing a thread.

An artist with eyes wide open
sees art spoken
the silence between words and phrases
Illuminates the ideas
within.

They live out thousands of lives
in the confines of one
a commentator, a spectator
yet living and being
and seeing all
no matter how small.

breathing in the darkness and light
meditating on intricacies
Like that of a flower
held by a *****
eternity shivers
Possessed by their grasp
caught between pain and rapture
the pen stains the page with ink
Blessed be the imagination in which they sink
and swim
these poets that are skin
and soul
eyes that travel and unravel
mysteries that we shall never see
places and faces between you and me

The depth of field
and focus of which
can never be seen
the poet is dreamer.

I got a poem in the cereal box this morning
And it was very nutritious for my soul
And another thing
No sugar