Perhaps Poetry

Poetry... in all forms Is for a poet... a different world to be To belong and to begone To have everything when nothing is to see Words beyond grasp That of old and what of new That multitude of pain to an eternity relax For that world we share with only poets few A place to run to or to come into A simple place... pure in its hell or solace Where everyone are the poorest and richest fools I welcome you... where so much more is so much less I can't say its a place for us to have words It's fires we have to need exhume Legends of old for new of volumes never heard It's ice where frost never consume If you understood what I have written You are only understanding yourself more That every scatter for every one word broken Is perhaps poetry for when poets die for