Epilogue (under work)

In a time where Poetry
is an un-required, un-desired
remnant far exiled
in exhange of Sensible Theory.
When not an ounce of Wonder
fits among Logic and Reason
in our hearts -and upon
emerging, its fragile lines are torn asunder.

Thus I come, a poet poor,
with my un-wanted, un-heard
words, yet my gaze is turned
at you with hope. As I ignore
your disdained looks, I do see their cause.
In your world "wonders" are neatly explained 'n stored,
You are offered everything a-plenty,
and with plentifull you are plenty a-bored.
So for my small gifts, why'd you pause?

I do not have what you seek.
To rekindle miracle to life,
to explain unmarred Love, endless Strife
-my soul feels them, but my hand is weak,
unable to pull you out (to set you free)
from your selfmade cage of silverfoil
and glitter, which you willingly traded for dreams
(now strewn on ashen soil).
If you cannot hear your dreams rustling, how'd you hear me?

Regardless, I will try. I offer you my pen,
and with it all the things I know.
Glimpses of futures yet-to-come, times long-gone-by
And perhaps the True Dreams you tread upon
will rise again, and teach you how to fly.
For altho Salvation is certain, it's revelation is slow.