Do Poets stay here?
Or do they fly by means
to the outer edges where
the Sun laughed while chasing
the Night?

In the Night, the Poet wept.
of words he'd steal, to touch
Loves inner hand while reaching
for the warmth of the Heart.

Were it not for the Poet,
Wine would merely...be.
So laughter would lose the
morning race while Air lost
her mellifuous rhymes.

Least thought should set one
Free, while throwing words,
like kisses felt in dreams
while pounding Hearts explode
of paintings songs with
words.

No, noone knows of where...the
Poet goes, or who is Love or song...of.
Might be just the one that touched
where only Thee saw how they
looked to see what wanted
one to be.

The Poet caught the Night
in the Morning with the Heart he
chased from the Night before.
Kissing her... Daylight banged in
laughing and chasing the Night.

Do Poets stay Here or
do they...just Disappear?