Embodiment Of Poetry Poem by Bill Cantrell

The dawn of poetry,
Who can recall its beginnings?
I drink the blue elixir from the sky,
I need no tutor,
Don't ask me why
My inner thirst compels me,
From that place beyond instinct
For beauty sits in the eye of the beholder
Whereas poetry rests in the bosom,
Of the one willing to embrace emotion
And countless are those not of our kind,
For we are of a different fold
True, passion barters out reasonings with the eyes,
But is easily fooled
Yet, poetry is a mother nursing her young,
And their bond is eternal,
Flowing past death and then some
We are led to octaves of joy and bliss,
And we bathe in waters that cleanse the heart and soul
Our tears are sculptured with morals and concern,
Placed on the page for others to find release,
For with release comes peace
Yes, humble beginnings,
Certainly comes with the dawn,
And night shall never overtake it's day
As for the eyes, it shall see the night and sleep,
Yet the heart continues to beat ever on,
No rest, no slumber for even in our dreams,
Emotion rules, it never stops giving,
Such is the embodiment of poetry,
And we would have it no other way