A poem for the Poets

Open the rarified book and step into the fantasy of phrase.

Here I have learned the touch of a thousand, thousand apples,

The twists and turns of eloquent power to show the toil and trouble of kings,

And the strength of a shy poet with an imagination that stretched beyond.

I have seen the delicate morning dew declaring the dawn through eyes, not mine

And the peace of wild places explored by hands and feet not mine.

I have learned the joy of harbor and the hope of a promise through a heart of another,

But there are some things I learned by my own hand and heart revealed by a pen.

I know the eloquent estuaries I create in my mind that revel in the wonder of the world,

I also learned the drought of daggers I create that weaken the wonder –

The darkening skies above my once radiant reservoirs now bring night and nervousness.

But I have also learned to love the stars that flicker through the velvet dark

Sparking flames of peace and hope of a promise only found in the dark quiet places.

The pen and paper of poets open a liminal door to the vast and the vagrants.

It reveals the wild wonder of our world but also displays the despair of our days.

Poetry has shown me myself and the world around me through eyes more vibrant than my own.

This poem is about: 
Our world



Great language used in this poem. 

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