For life?
Probably,
But in a much more
Humane way
Than the branding iron’s
Scarlet letter.
Poetry in the poet
Leaves its mark
Not escapable,
Only, writable
Often you may write
A poem, simply by feel
Having joyous, appeal
Fulfilling you,
Mellifluously, entirely
Fascinating, words appear
Like magic doves,
Flying from magician’s hat
Your poem sings melodically,
Euphorically,
Maybe claiming other souls
That want to see, to feel
What you see and give
As the doors to dreams open,
For its you, Poet
Who holds the key, to Poetry.