Peace, one and all…

There is a passing moment of sadness
as each poem ends,
as the limitless possibilities of forever
fall softly towards this earth of here and now.

Perhaps then, the joy of poetry
comes not from the descent of words,
but from the ascent of the soul
to realms of light beyond the last horizon.

Poetry is a slow tear of failure,
the collected waters of a heart in need
and yet, Beloved, this is the essence
of what it means to be human
leon4

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