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
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