When Poe leaves Kingdom and hails the sea
And absence wins to ecstasy
Seraphs dwindle in their clouds
Never minding Annabelle Lee.

When Cummings follows floating bells
And someones and everyones reap their tells,
spring winter autumn summer
the snow of children swells and swells.

When Rosetti ventures in the day,
and golden hair shows not one grey.
Sisters wander, sisters stray
And can't keep Goblin fruit away.

When Frost forgets to watch the trail
And takes the worn path most preferred.
Keeps walking til his footsteps fail
The leaves are trodden, black, stale,
The road not taken, undisturbed.

When I wonder what poets say
When they turn their truths away
And venture into the unknown,
Do they leave well enough, alone?

Call for that which moves today above your broken wings
with perfect timing familiar as your dreams.
Tonight, what is true will not accuse how you feel
or tell you what to write
in a torrent of questioning schemes.

Declare that I have something the world loves to place
in glass windows forever to be considered
as part of their past.
To once again be able to face themselves
in the morning and have the will to claim
something that will last.

Tell me that the air I breathe is full of wonder and new life
that no nightmare could ever ask
to be part of its story.
When I sit in the moonlight
let me inhale with devotion
instead of spinning inside a shadow’s quarry.

Remember nothing but that which you hear singing
from a soul with no fear,
a sound more beautiful than the wind.  
It flows like a drink from a cup,
almost deeper than love itself
when seen through the eyes of that which moves
above your broken wings.