wrought, from a Potter’s Wheel

 

 

A Caliber,  of Craft

(  of Pen,  or Sword  )

  

 

There are Poets,  those who dance,  with Words,

when Thought and Deed,  are not Enough,  and

there are Empires to build,  or lost Dreams

     wait,  to live inside Their Walls . . .

  

There are Poets,  who walk,  where Echoes go to

die,  knowing The Winds blow,  by The Names

of Patience and Longing,  or a Muse,  who

     answers,  to One and The Same . . .

  

There are Poets,  who teach Wisdom,  to Reason,

finding Truth in Both,  as They lay Our Hearts

down to rest,  upon a Leaf,  upon a Wave,

     upon a Sea,  Once upon a Time . . .

  

There are Poets,  who hold within Their Arms,  A

Breath of Understanding,  wrapped in a Cloak

of Simplicity,  to be left on The Doorstep,

     of The Child,  within Us,  All . . .

 

 

 from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Third DoveTale – The Rail of Sighs

 

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