the gift of a poet

 
a poet who fails to reach the heart of the reader is dead  
no life flows through their soul anymore  
flatlined verses amusing only to one's self are an empty void  
 
a swirling vortex of loneliness  
masturbating furiously to a porno queen  
who will never return true lusts is dead poetry  
 
I reached the stars when I moved you  
connecting on another level  
we spoke to the darkness and edged it back  
 
you were my muse and I yours  
we tangoed in artistic thought  
two misfits of word and deed  
 
whiling the day away seducing the muse  
reaching in and transporting the masses to another dimension  
our private thoughts their wonderland  
 
a portal where feelings intertwine and dance  
hopscotching through time into the next poet's mind  
where they too have the power to move  
 
this is the truest artistic expression there is  
to get into another's mind and bend it  
then born again into the body of their art living on eternally