Imagination is the river
that guides the quill.
Dreams the sailing ship
that unleashes the voyage
through the pages of a poets mind.
To write is to find
the meaning of love.
Where beauty opens the gate,
to a never ending yellow brick road
Of human emotion.
For that is what we seek.
The pen can create gods
and mortal frailty.
Sunshine is the span of life,
darkness is forever
and within these letters
we find immortality.
Beauty is found in pain
hope is an emerald sea,
envy comes from Oscar’s words
and belief becomes a prejudice.
The pen will drown your epitaph
for the Cyclops knows his destiny
Words can be a jigsaw of fears,
Or a rose sculptured in the heart.
All belong to confession,
trapped in the confetti of poems
which hide behind a harlequin mask
though a poets heart,
is for all to see
© Copyright 2016 steven cooke. All rights reserved.
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