When waking life is webbed with dream,
and what is real don’t matter,
and conversations only seem
unnecessary chatter,
a poet’s heart’s engendering
a majesty of wonders
and thinks upon its rendering
in brightnesses and thunders.
Its rhythm, rhyme, and metering
are things that are concerning,
but when its meaning’s teetering-
that’s when we think of burning.
So take an oath, a poet’s toast
to write your best of pages-
like lost Lenore and Raven’s ghost,
your story for the ages.
Aremyfeetofftheground 