Dear Poet

I can’t help but to wonder, dear poet, since you write so much about love and death. Is there a heaven or hell, dear poet, after we have suffered through our last breath? Why should I believe in God, dear poet, for I think if he truly does exist. He would not let us go on, dear poet, to live our lives in such a mess as this. Tell me, why are your eyes sad, dear poet, is it from living those stories you’ve told? Or from crying tears of loss, dear poet, as you watched human dignity get sold. Do all that have read your words, dear poet, know of the fragile soul you hold within? You tried to keep it shielded, dear poet, sadly, your armor has worn much too thin. You have seen the hate and death, dear poet, all the worst things that man can ever give. Yet your words still give me hope, dear poet, a better way for all of us to live. We’re all sisters and brothers, dear poet, our allegiance is forged in steel and blood. Your passion opened my eyes, dear poet, and showed us we can defeat hate with love.