poetry is the
vernacular of the
wise
the voice of
angels
the resonance of
truth.
how else can the
heart find
speech?
how can love &
pain & wonder
resound?
a poem is
no mere
child of this
world,
but the firm
intent of grand
creation.
& though all
trace of
language will
some day atrophy &
disappear––
it cannot
will not
die.