The poet

The evening melts into oblivion

I saw a soul perched on my skin

Beaded and bubbled in love’s warfare

The greenery is dropped in palettes

Hues of red and crimson joy

The fairies sung in unison

A drama written upon the land of sadness

The holy grail is beamoned with sacrifice

A numberless winged dews of poetry

It has the power to heal any broken soul

The sad demise of mountains high

A melodic death happens afar

The poet is now crowned with victory

Art as it is upon God’s hands.