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