Passion and the Poet

Without fiery passion, there is no poetry – Oh, there are jingles of sorts! jingles of naughts – Limericks so on, and on and on – Rhymes two three and four, or as many more; but, for a lyric to soar, or heavily sink to depths fond hearts dip and taste-tally together explore...there must be great passion, smothering smoking, burning passion or nothing at all: passion above, passion below as well as within – to the core of earth-center while breaching sky tall...or the poet's words, the vehicles of his being the reasons for his feeling the scopes of his seeing without such divine-juice his soul-output sputters and stalls – spent projectiles from conforming passionless balls –