Speak to me poetry,
speak to me in a voice,
that is not mine,
Let me hear the absurd,
that is like blood cells by design,
I want images of poetry,
to pour onto paper
Something seen, not a vapor,
sacrificial ink of character  
Not an apparition, a testament of reason,
in an unruly season, of drought, disasters that poetry
can survive, alive for decades of human strife,
to balm with solace
as only poetry can be,
do inspire all that
read of poetry,
in the peace,
in the piece,
the heart of poetry,
that was more,
because of words,
typed, falling which
caused words,
to be written,
from a dark place
that poetry
spoke of,
so that no ONE,
has to journey
there alone with
out having
their story told,
their voice heard,
through an act of poetry.

There is laughter in poetry,
There are tears in poetry,
Poetry is part of a community,
   which call each other part - poets.