They, Poets Poem by Aya Poetess

Charred by the blistering heat of passion,
of limerent kiss,
of great exasperation,
whilst in evanescent mirth
whilst in eternal pain
they roil their ink
with blood in parchments
of ineffable voices
on capacious, endless scrolls

They
Poets

Reveries fill their chalices of musings
Tilling their mindfields for tales' risings
After a season's birth
nor in one single breath
Alchemists and sorcerers
they become
churning wine into grains of gold
turning metals into
lacquer in satin molds

They
Poets

We
Us
Their deities
—daughters of Zeus, Venus, Adonis
live amongst us
Do we wilfully enamour them
With our beauty and benevolence?
Revel them in our love's opulence?
Do we deliberately inflict
spiteful briars in their souls?
Beguile them with wild thrills of our flesh?


They
are the paragons
Of fiery spirits
that never rest
Love
And the inexplicable matters
that love brings forth
enkindle them to craft
masterpieces
to glorify us,
decry us
mystify us,
bewilder us,
tame us

Them
They
They are POETS
To love and to behold


Copyright ©
March 2018