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.
