the Poets Still Sing

Whatever of true life there is in thee leaps in our age’s veins.

Wield still thy bent and wrinkled empery.

And shaken thine idle chains –

To thee thy dross is clinging.

For us

thy martyrs die

thy prophets see,

Thy poets still singing!

• Anonymous

“Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations.” ― Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.” ― Novalis