An ode

To poetry, 

And to all the pens that wrote

Many beginnings of poetry

But with no end in sight

With a deep respect to all of the poems

That they decided to write

And a firm salute also to all of the poets

That came before me

For alas,

The art of poetry that stems from the past

Garnered and seen in the present

And aimed towards the unknown future

Just waiting to be created

For every stroke of the pen

For every word that was penned

And the ink from a bottle 

Settled in the glass and ready to

Amass many poems to come

And with much variety that will

Undeniably,

And unequivocally,

Ink poetic and literary filled lines

Betwixt the poem and poet

And even moreso,

When they constellate and articulate

Poetry as wide as the mickle sky

For poetry will always be

Concupiscible,

As the poets of old

Clearly conveyed

As art in motion

Swift and bonded 

While channeling a sincere connection

To the paper and pen

As poetry being invented 

Even more and hitherto,

Poetic ideas dreamt of

Made present and feathered 

From this,

With deep and free flowing penmanship

PM