The Power of Poetry

 

I Climbed rocks winged with words,

and paint beauties on my path, 
invade palaces unhindered, 
bearing arms welling from this frame.
I draw the sword from the scabbard, 
piercing dictators with a dagger, 
I cut their cables by this craft, 
and watched their fickle frame subdued. 
I soar like eagle in my thoughts, 
coruscating gleams attending, 
I see nature's beauty and hear voices,
I roam in firce shades in search of jewels,
The pulse of fear or grim assails, 
Yet capapie and undaunted. 
I see men entrapped in a race, 
oh! that they might see the filth,
and time, how short to pen, 
these vague and obscure moments.
Yet, poetry catches but a few.