Peering into the future while reaching out to the ether;
in this moment of rhyme –
connecting to the fabrication of time.

I see children holding onto books of poetry,
defining their sequence of existence
with all the wisdom held in pages of prison.

An educated race where philosophy sits on a higher place;
helping to carve out this inevitable new space;
written by people who could see their fate!
From a time where minds struggled to relate.

Poetry has become the place of authority,
defining purpose, offering up answers,
pushing forward the human race.

Children were exchanging poems,
authors and quotes from the days
when the minds of words got lost in the clay.

Poetry, at last, has found its place;
never to be forgotten
in the days where wisdom defines modern grace.

The poetry writers and readers of the present
let the words parade in a moment of fame;
lived out by those who dare to speak truths of shame.

The fabrication of time –
slowly eradicates the connection in mind
as the eyes open, to see the present date.

A moment that’s not too late.
Poetry has its place.

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