Do not be seduced by Poets

If a poet courts you, he will bring

Bouquets of freshly gathered verses,

Dew drops still shining on the petals.

He will bring delicate confections

Sugar spun from devoted words.

He may speak of eternity, with grandiosity,

Bestow titles, announce virtues, describe

Hitherto unseen beauties. He might

Cherish and adore in rhyming couplets.

If he is truly serious, there may be

A sonnet.

Those linguistic displays of accomplishment

May persuade, lure or induce

And in the chocolate dipped satin of his words

You may miss the true meaning.

The poems are never about you.

The poems are expressions of his finer feelings.

He, the rare and precious one.

He, the miracle unfolding before you.

And you may be permitted to inspire him

A little.

And applaud him.

A lot.

Don’t ever imagine he was in love with you.

It was the passion for a well rounded line,

The ecstasy of a graceful metaphor.

He loved how he sounded when declaring

The timeless, boundless qualities of his love.

He loved the idea of being in love

With someone for whom he could write poems.

He was in love with the way those poems

So beautifully reflected his own glory.

You, my dear girl, were too real in the end.

Not an ephemeral wonder conjured from air

And water after all.

Not merely an empty vessel to be filled

With the sound of his words.

He fell out of love with you for that,

And writes lengthy, free form pieces now

About how majestic he is in his grief.