Oh, Poetry

Oh, Poetry, why are you not What we think you should be? Have you not been forever malleable Pliantly submissive beneath our hammers Assuming forms that mimic or surpass The master crafters lingering tones A thickening of thinning edges Slicing through the arrogance of time. Oh, Poetry, must I make you mine? Court you, cajole you, dance your dance. Could we not meet as passing lover’s, Teasers, flaunting temptations, Scintillating scents wafting wildly Through a momentary passion, A secret rendezvous with desire’s need..