Moreover Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

Moreover, poetry is
what destruction tries hardly to subtract,
what the prophet is in agony to add,
what Mephistopheles desires bitterly to divide,
what love multiplies while being divided.

Moreover, it’s the white bird in winter,
the absence of cold as reason for blackening,
the golden rain that touches upon vertically
the body of Danae that stretches horizontally.

Moreover, it’s not the cart that carries straw,
but the one bringing the rocks of the duty
which become diamonds while it ascends.

Moreover, it is the shiver
of Dante, when he smelled the rose in Hades,
of Homer, when he tasted the honey of Muses.

Moreover, poetry is what is more and over.



© JosephJosephides