To Poetry

It seems so long

since lead grazed a papyrus dark

to try to make meaning

to emote.

So long

that it feels almost forgotten

buried deep by the tides of meaning

And willed neuronal plasticity.

Oh dear poetry,

Oh beautiful muse, oh bride divine,

I miss your gushing out of a loosely held, loosely led piece of chalk

Your emergence

With no see-able cause but some eddies of life

And your birth

Though imperfect in correspondence (to an ideal)

so complete in yourself

Waving your sense of purpose and contentment-

over your so called author.

Weaving yourself into your own creations

Creating, animating-

Coding, executing

Architecting possible worlds

complete, coherent, sound

Oh poetry,

Come back, please...

I await on my knee

With a ring beheld towards thee

With expectance and honesty, humble, but with no humility-

Will you marry me?

**

(I'd written this a long time ago. Forgotten, it lay maturing in my file. It seemed apt that I post this now, now that it had lost feeling and depth, and yet, not untimely)