I used to think that poetry was dead
but then I realized that it could never die
as long as dreamers were alive.
Poetry from a long gone era
of word sword smiths displaying their wit
actors were troubadours reciting brilliance
from a quill dipped in ink on parchment
creating history and the future in candlelit verse.
Love has no distractions
No other comparison
center stage spotlight
swan and rose.
Books travel through imagined experience
the torture of regrets
or the radiance of a wish.
Love’s eyes bless you with super sonic wings
Falling from those fatal heights
is a near death experience.
Every heartbreak brings despair
Sacred timeless mourning
but life remains a miracle.