poetry

speak to me softly of his listful gait,

dear muse who cherishes inky musings.

tell me of this boy Poetry, who is of that thing most human.

tell me,

when god spoke the birth of time, did this child bring gifts divine?

and when she spoke that birth of mine, was he there to sing a line?

when mankind spoke her very first lines, were the creatures named using iambic rhymes?

is he the only one who can take a whisper of my soul, and leave it on the desk? an inken clue of how i really feel.

a true lover of mankind, a seeker of their every shape.

oh muse, speak to me of his lexical likeness so i might briefly thank him for his love.