The words so deep
They reach about like a lightning storm
That reveals the nature
Of our joyous sorrows.

This is the poet that escapes
From dull crevices and fixed niches
Into a sky adorned with metaphor
And fantastical illusions.
It's a gathering of Weeping Willows
And under are flowers of death
And dark romancing light.

It is like the march of an invisible
Parade bustling down the day,
Each one thoroughly entertaining
With the prestige of words written
On their invisible skulls.
      The hunger that ends but is
Never satisfied,
A miracle backwards,
A solitary confinement with the universe.

And in the middle of sorrow and joy
Is love
Between two bodies,
The romance,
The fall,
Something that brings about melancholic grace
To a fallen angel
At the cusp of mercy of mortality.
The pen and the poet
Bid farewell daily to this world
And everyday reinvent it
With audascious hope....

Poetic reality, oh miserable happiness:
The sea of stars in the eyes of a poet.