Here’s to the poets who died a thousand times and lived millions more— who danced with rhymes until their hands feel sore;
Who rewrote the stars and found beauty in scars, who romanticized the moon and found poetry in tunes;
Who blew kisses in the wind And felt a love left unseen— A ghost of a romantic scene, Embers of what could’ve been;
Who found hope in nothingness and beauty in one’s madness— Who saw mediocrity in greatness as they strive for more goodness;
Who took coffee at the rising morn, And stole kisses with corny love letters, Sung like bards mad as the pied piper, Fell in love and became jealous of Heather.
Here’s to the poets who got lost in transition, in the world of ink and paper, in the phantasms of poetic allusion, in the warmth and cold of December, in the reveries of literary composition, in the need to write history to remember and to those who got lost in fascination—
May you all be remembered by the world as the pages of our history remain untold; Melt what’s frozen, bring warmth to the cold. Keep crying for literature, be poetic and bold.
Thank you for giving me a loving home When I thought I was meant to be alone, For giving me a shelter during the storm 'Til I learned how to survive by my own.
Because one day our breath will cease And no longer shall we bleed poignant ink— Let the stars fall as the pen and paper kiss, Write your last poetry before it sinks.
Title borrowed from the movie “dead poet society "