Letters To Dead Poets; Chapter 1: To William Blake

In that endless night we heed; cold and bitterness unto the morning light Sightless vision binds our eyes madness disembarks into our lives A cold dark prison earned is the bittersweet sentence served A life stolen and a life lived in hush tis golden silence upon that burning bush Trembling utterances on the grave it's the human heart that we poets save In this final night and in that coming day let all that you dream become what may for once the fires lit, the dream is here to stay. -------- In response to: "Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to Endless Night" From Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake