The Poets
By Phillip Wilson •
When nothing else makes any
sense,
Who makes sense of it –
The poet.
Gathered,
Scattered;
Ethers of broken dreams;
(Craving)
Engraving sculptured nuances
That seek out harmony,
Making the discord of lost illusions;
Hoping for a voice to believe in once
Again.
When all has unraveled,
All roads traveled
led [lead] to nowhere;
The poet dares to take on the space,
The void of nothingness,
To blast a song;
(Empower to the harmony)
The poets dream.