Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.

And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.

You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:

I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.

Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....

Poets, living martyrs.