Poetry is not dead
It is all around us
It is everywhere
Floating in the air
As billions of atoms
It is like leaves
On the branches of trees
It is the taste
Of our own lives
It is a living thing
Blowing in the wind
During a red and magical season
As a movie scene
Poetry is not dead
It is alive
Just there
Into your bloody heart
And knocking
It is a living
And a little frightened animal
Hidden in a dark ditch
Near the main highway
Looking at the colored cars
Driving too fast
And
Showing us the way
Poetry is a blast of freedom
With a lot of reflections
It is the sunshine
At twelve o’clock
Lighting up a big tree
With a couple of crows
Fallen in love
To be convinced of that
Have a look all around you
Poetry is everywhere
Moving in the air
It is the flight of the eagle
Above the mountains
The heartbreaking song of the wolves
Under the moonlight
It is the silence of the deep forest
The wild sound of the waves
As a perfect appeasement
Poetry is not dead
It is a painted body
With fire
It is a smile on a face
It is the laugh of children
It is the mischievous eyes
Of old people
The forehead covered with wrinkles
Poetry is not dead
It is a white chapel
With a beautiful young woman
And a very long white dress
As an angel
It is also the sound of the bells
And an old fashion black car
In fact poetry
Is you
Inside
And all around you
Helping to feel better
Giving all the strength
To face the Night
So for once
Think twice
Your children
Your one love
Or your wife
Don’t lose yourself
Live your life
Think poetry
As a poet
That you already are
Because in one word
Poetry is everything
Above all
Poetry is all
That will remain
From us
When we will be
At our turn
Billions
Of very small atoms…
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