Sagacity of Innocence

 

One thing my enemies--whose hatred I gained in defense of poetry little reckoned was the toll of the conflagration. Being as such I can never deny there was wreckage and only assert I, too, saw the need for waste. For a poet waste is a raw material. For blocked writers with tyrannical cruelty in their veins, they'll not suffer a thing they do not know how to lose.  I've seen them as they passed by my way and tried to control or negate me. There is a failsafe of stupidity as there is a sagacity which is that its principle asset is the ability to cushion chaos, yet another poetic material--anniversaries come from them and are celebrated with some traditional commodity or another, gold, pewter, alabaster what have you. There is That's the treasure of verse. Like Hephaestus you are embossed in its matter; you are the features of the surface as well. All of this is to say that I do and do not believe in poetry.  All people are by definition poets first then persons.  There are stratus levels in truth and knowledge. From my experience with these layers on which letters are written, all language is a removal of its meaning. Nothing new if you don't take it seriously. If I was criticized for something, let me tell you now, it was always for my stated passion which by my measure is/was/will be/always a dispassionate science.  Still they only knew 1 facet of me, the wounded victim. They never could see all the stars that sparkled invisibly only for me when their words were crueler than deception or betrayal which radiated the serene mastery of innocence.. They were also the death of some verses I treasured for they were engraved with the messages that something dark lived in that darkness.