The Laureate

I remember sitting among the poets in this place of arts Where curved brushes painted blushes of artists open hearts Our art could be confined to paper, but really it was meant to fly Like a caged bird beats its wings, these words seek the sky Only on the lips of faith, they leaped from the pages And danced around the room, turning citizens into sages Awakening something so deep, I forgot it was there A hunger to create, and the pride to share The words returned to the pages, content with its journey as proof A smile touched her lips, after delivering such a truth She quietly closed her book, as we laid there raw For as much as we thought we knew, we were still left in awe Of The Laureate