Dearest Poetry

Tired of wasted words
Escaping from my lips
Hanging heavy in empty air
Falling to the floor
With a sickening squelch
Without so much as care
To how it made her feel

Poetry must be dead
Along with Latin
Critical thinking was long since put to rest

If it's not served hot and ready
The people don't want it
They want simple
And then simplify that

This is a loveless wasteland
Where Poetry stands erect
A testament to time and the will to express
That soon no one will recognize
Much less catch the drift

This is clearly an S.O.S
To deliver my favorite
From her imminent demise

My sweetest savior
My little misconstrued mistress
In your absence I will keep your cadence

From soul
To heart
To lips

To you I owe my desire to be an artist

My darling,
My sweet,
Dearest Poetry