This shall be one poetry;
to the hidden poets inside,
to the dying ones in some,
to the blooming births at hide,
this shall be one poetry;
of the soulful solitary,
of the wandering dreamers,
of the living once buried,
this shall be one poetry;
for the curious word-weavers,
for the lovers and breakers,
for the doubtful believers,
this is my poetry;
to the world of blinding prose,
my broken poetry:
to the love-filled living ghosts,
this is my poetry;
my solitude-encapsuled words,
my dying poetry;
my self-indulging curse,
though this shall live;
this shall be forgotten;
within chambers of my heart,
this shall be forgiven;
this is my poetry;
a legacy I've become,
a humbled psycho's work,
where my living begun;
this is my poetry;
this is your poetry;
as we live by these collusions,
this is our poetry.
