Emerson and Fuller,
Thoreau and Whitman,
Again and again, it has been written:
Nothing ever ends, death is no
Impasse;
So when you’re gone we’ll look for you,
In our Leaves Of Grass.

Carved stone for all to read
You cannot read it though
Feel it taught all over my skin
You just touch what you WANT to know
It could not be more obvious
Written all over my face
Choose to remain blind to the words
For you in the first place
If needing me to translate further
Not sure how else I can
Emotions simple to decipher
You don't want to know who I am

There is no poetry that will stop being written because every day a young poet is born and love is born every day.

I feel the need to get away to another place in time
I indeed have you on my mind
If I am in the mood for romance I will dance to your tune
I hope to meet you again soon
If I need to spice up my life with mystery or suspense you will me my guide
When I need to learn a historical fact  you will happily oblige
The sky is the limit of the adventures in store for me when I am with you
I have had the joy of discovering you at a young age
You sometimes appear alone
You sometimes come in trilogy's
You sometimes are contained in many volumes
You share with me some sonnets, poems or prose
You are held within a blanket of various colors and textures
  You are at times  in pristine condition or weathered and worn
  You are at times leather bound no matter how you are arrayed
   I have not strayed from my love of the written word
    I will take another look and pick up and read my favorite book