After a Thousand Poets

64

To dream myself, to be dreampt
By other eyes, on other worlds
That was the prophecy of
The written word, to be fluid

Like a medium, to pastel the words
Into new forms, to climb
The towers together of meaning
And visit the citadels of angels

To explore rooms, walk streets
Of singing combinations never
Before experienced, like surrealism
In a bright sunlit room, and art

With trends and sublime gulfs
Where only a few artists can reach
And cities of culture’s inheritance
Where philosophers must tread

To dream myself, being more
Than just idle dreams, to weave
Looking out into new enchanted sentences
That come alive in their own way

That can speak to sense and soul
Moulding kaleidoscopic clouds
As easy as the fountains of day
And water of enormous glimpses

Of prosperity, the light of the future
Golden mornings, youth transformed
Some transparent shimmer
Of alphabets that can suffice the
Difficult diamond thirst.

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