Poetry can leave me but i can never leave her...

Poetry can leave me and go away far
But how can I possibly forget poems left by her?
How can forget so easily her words
Drowning me and taking me forever towards
Those days of poetic trance coming relentless-
With poems aging and old, poems so restless-
Poems so much full of youngish blood
Poems resembling the disastrous flush flood...

Now that she's packing her bags in a haste
Leaving me a bunch of papers, a terrible waste...
I just try to find poems in her sky...
But find only farewell speeches how there scattered lie...
In gray black shapes of floating heavy forms
In dark, sombre, embittered prosaic norms...

But then if poetry can leave me and go away far
How can I say boldly I never miss her?
Hasn't she for me brought morning dewy drenched flowers?
Hasn't she brought from heaven the ethereal showers?
Hasn't she made her empty on my tiny heart?
How can I lie when she and me part?

Poetry can always leave me alone
But I can't leave her, never ever torn...
I would still cling to her, begging her to stay...
I would still ask her to gift me another day...
A day without tussle, without gunshots-
A day filling my gray 'vacant lots',
A day coming again to make me wild
A day bringing to my ears music mild,
A day even more dazzling than a diamond
A day starting with a fragrant dawn...


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