if poets ruled the world i shall be at peace for no amount of pain will evolve into bullets just petals, some wilted but never not fragrant
watch men and women and everyone in between ignite chasms with sparks then joy will be served in generous servings but never ignorant
the angst you give will be crystals until forgiveness cradles you for tears will be valid the triumphs kiss the sky but never arrogant
if poets ruled the world everything will turn from beautiful to ethereal wrecks, clouds, smiles, hearts, storms, bees, dreams, humanity, havoc.
if poets ruled the world - watch the world burn ethereally. and like a phoenix - watch it resurrect.
Hatred will turn into a garden where you could dwell but must come out at some point - and not bullets firing angst. Happiness will not be taken for granted for behind it is a road of sacrifices that led up to that. Your sadness won't need a reason to be real. Your reasons for being sad will be real. Everything that came before and shall come after will matter. Watch the world burn, but it will be beautiful for it will not be wrecking. It will be from the ashes of resurrection.