To You, Poetry.

O' sweet yesteryears of decade bygone, the far end we first crossed paths,
Forbidden adventures well past midnight, the revolutionary aftermath,

The strained rhymes, the cliches that bore the guilt of plagiarized phrases,

"Behold our poet!", I heard 'em muse, beaming in adolescent innocence.

Yet what was true was nurtured by you, in the many years to come,
As I learned to paint the gray away, hear the poetry in my lonesome.
And when words left me dry, dazed and delirious, devoid of ecstasy,

I found solace in thy dreamy abode, savoring our wordless intimacy...

And how I returned to you, forgetting farewells to wrest our endless night,
To escape the daylight of treacheries and distrust, you gave me respite.
As I pondered the poetry of paradoxes, confronting long repressed cries,
Epiphanies glowed midst rhapsodic crescendos, burning facades of lies.

The decade dies with the friends I've lost, and I hope I've since made new,
Yet the day's but a drill I must scrape through, to pen nightly odes for you,
At thy heel I place my perverse prayers; anonymous, obscure as ever,
So cleanse me of futility the world chains me in, inspire me forever!