Pardon a poet a wavering soul,
Untamed by the worldly pressure,
Driven by the urge to draw peace from a far,
They make no permanent nests.
It’s amazing how they craft day into night,
A saddened heart melting with joy,
A dead soul back to life,
Envy a poet, they’ve got the power of life in a pen.
Not confined under own pressure,
With unreadable minds even in a crisis,
With a call a goal to brighten hearts,
Poets aren’t caged birds.
Like birds of the air, they patch anywhere,
Reclaiming glory where hope was lost,
Feeding on cocoons breathing life long forgotten,
Affirming victory even at the worst.
Poets are not human, term them as Angeles,
Heavenly beings sent to rescue humanity,
They feed not on humans sweat,
Poets are gods and goddesses of the land, ruling in harmony.
Poets Are Birds of the Air.
©Dotty The Poetess.