The Last Poets

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The Last Poets

Between the potency of existence
And the silence of the soul of love
The voices that speaks is poetry
To look at the world the way
A man looks at a woman
With hunger and a vivid appreciation
For nature’s prosperity

The voice knows me
Like the way a ghost knows its shadow
Time riots in the music of my dance
Every generation I shall lend the voice
And poets will become the lover
I once was, carrying on the tradition
Of making light of the hidden beautyScreen Shot 07-11-15 at 09.19 PM

Until you write so beautifully
The inside of your mind
Becomes a reflection of heaven
The heaven that belongs to the future
And the poetry of the Earth is never dead
I get a little poetic sometimes
When I realize we are perhaps

On the way to extinction, after all
We have become the alchemists
Of our own evolution, like the mother
Of communism, art can get lost
In translation, and even poetry can
Die, the literature of a more romantic age.

18 thoughts on “The Last Poets

  1. Lucky we are to have you, to keep poetic flow defining existence. Is beauty lost if we cannot sense her lingering breadth? Or are realities blinders simply too snug, reducing mysticism with scientific zeal?

    • Meditation is becoming more mainstream as a health benefit or stress reduction technique, but art is always spiritual to those who seek beauty intensely.

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