To Poetry

I had never felt what I feel the moment
I never dreamt that I shall ever speak
The not yet completely formed feelings
The thoughts that have always hidden selves
And the expressions that never took light
Into the doomed reality that I perceived
Was far from being comprehensible
My world, to call it my very own
And to myself- to which they fettered
And their lonesome existence in that domain
Has caused them to fling like fire
Un-relented like a whirlwind sucking life
They are a force rather than a flaccid emotion
Living rather than an abstraction
The expanse of my conception
Has now only been bound by infinity
The living fears have been euthanized
And the voice that was never heard
Is to become the voice of the world
Of truth, of reality and of hope
I owe to this liberation, my being
And to the power of word, my soul. To say,
That which comes as it comes is life
And that which comes with pain, with joy- is poetry.