POETRY IS A TREE AND POETS ARE LEAVES THAT FALL..


Poetry is
love and meaning,
twisted and terrible,
forged of steel words
by ink stained fingers
with hearts like nova’s.
It is feather haired
infant cries,
gentle curved
sensual sighs
Carved
by lost souls then found lovers
as their breath fails
Poems are a spotlight
that drift down
like dust, their words
illuminated as they fall
to earth.
Poetry is a tree
and poets are leaves
that turn and fall
and break.

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