A poem for my poets

From lullabies with vanishing cries
to long lost love with cruel goodbyes
and anything you've ever read or heard and laughed
is yet another poet's craft.....
Everything we silently steal or feel
and everything we violently sing is real
Any fantasy within the schism of time
with or without any rhythm or rhyme
Any past torture now no longer dormant
of which persistence insists with its torment
or a precision revision of now and then
with a newly found vision of Zen
Love lost, love found or found again
Lust bound without cost, sensational sensual sin
A past memory of perception of perfection
marked down forever with a pen
If any passions damned might roam
then you, Sir or Ma'am, have yourself a poem