Challenging confederacy,

Or questioning theocracy,

Or standing to the face of their awful “democracy.”

 

Their leatherback notebooks cannot constrain,

The words that they possess,

That burst out of their brain.

 

Veneered with syncopated rhythm,

Their truth remains,

Connected by magic,

Some boarded by shame.

 

Speak out!

Speak out!

Share your written magic far and wide!

 

The disregard of social syntax,

Love of expression,

My dear,

Let them slide!

 

The magic that makes them whole,

Far supreme and ever bold,

Transcendent and consummate,

That chokes me within its hold.

 

That is what makes them great,

Dickinson, Plath, Doshi and Blake.

 

Their magic,

That awakens minds,

That makes poetry,

Forever outside and inside of time.