Another poetry without poetry;
another episode without seasons,
of no chillness nor humidity,
pouring streams for no reason;
oh poetry, poetry, poetry,
how come abandon I sudden;
in moments so desolately
as if some things -now forbidden;
oh poetry, poetry,
how expensive is time;
from your perching to fall
somewhere deeper than mine;
for poetry, poetry,
one bit penny, I've none;
but is time reciprocating
worthy 'till it grows gone;
since another is this poetry,
another poetry without poetry;
within freedom among fences,
and censors among liberty;
no discouragement, what's best;
but whole emptiness to fill,
only drop of withered stain
of what poems sweetly kill;
since killing for rebirth;
of such magic that sparks,
within poets of solitude,
that glows enticing as stars;
'till the rising from ashes;
of poetry as phoenix;
with beauty of great strangeness,
it's the poetry's art promised.
