When poets fall in love,

The gods themselves weep

For they know of the souls,

The minds,

The hearts

That will be unhinged

And yet mended.

Each breath rolls off their tongues

Into a fiery gust of passion

And unspeakable syllables

That could rock the world.

Their sheer power

Creates another dimension

Where blank pages are battlefields

And words are the weapons.

Maybe the haunting whispers,

Echoing in the mind

Of every unborn child

From the ear-shattering eruption

Of the clashing limbs of lovers,

Will spark the revolution

Of broken minds

And open hearts.


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