wishing for a stoned-pathed world of ink,
forgotten learnings in bookshelves and ivories,
must we forget the fulfillment of escapement,
embrace the artistry that boils your soul,
though perceived as unusable and unseen,
i beckon my lost elitists, join the classic teachings,
embrace the artistry that is slipping away,
fill our souls in the cult of creativity.
slip on your sweater vests and black loafers,
join our whispering in candle-lit shadows,
as we drunken ourselves on the pages,
forgotten artists in a capitalist world,
secrecies floating in our play to madness,
disoriented laughter hidden in book-bindings,
let us not forget the findings of historians and poets,
in this fading artistry, fading of our souls,
what gives us the right to pursue our passion,
free of the cares of the meticulously engineered world?
summoned from the ghostly hallows of library shelves,
rise into the shoes of those before us,
drink in the exclusive spill of poetry,
the diaries of the dead, dusted from the spine,
in the golden candle-light we summon:
the poets in each of us that remain forgotten
