Paupered Poet

He lived life as a paupered poet.
Clinging to the rich for some support.
Observing endless waves in a retort.
Heating up, the mists erased the emptiness
of pain he chose to face within their
ever mortal frames of eyes in shame.

And yet somehow, within his artist's eyes
he saw a something other glowing there.
Hidden deep inside their lives, so prim
and ever unadulterated. He spied
the need. It echoed there, inside
of everyone. Deep within the dreams
they never won.

He felt it true, as blue on blue
began to chase the clouds out of the sky.
Cosmic space - a startled grace
once given unto him. A giving
that still made the world spin.
And so, he rose beyond himself again.

Seeking truth in all he ever felt.
A sorrow wound around him,
in a stance that dared the gods
to enter him. Angelic hosts
became his gathering. Elegies
that pushed his name to fame.
Long after his departure from his form.

And yet somehow, he'd tamed
an ancient myth of great lament.
Opening into his last ascent.
Conscious of his reach, and then,
the pull of angels still surrounding him.
He had lived life as a paupered poet.
Clinging to the rich for some support.
Observing endless waves in a retort.
While in his very conscious death,
the mists erased the emptiness
of pain that he once chose to face
within their only, very mortal eyes...

? Michaelette ?

10/17/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
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