T'was nearly 1300 years ago
That Otomo No Yakamuchi wrote:

Late evening finally comes
I unlatch the door
And quietly await
The one who greets me in my dreams.

Romance and Fantasy were alive then
As they are now and will forever be.

About 1000 years ago Izumi Shikibu
Shared these words with one he loved:

When I think of you
Fireflies in the marsh rise
Lost to eternal longing
Abandoning my body

That tingling in the belly happened then
As it does now and as it will forever.
How many thousand poets
Have written how many words?
How many thousand subjects
Have listened as bluebirds
Sing to other bluebirds and
As lovers walk hand in hand?

How many smiles and tears were shared
By how many souls who merely dared
To open hearts and share and embrace?
Poets write poems, singers sing songs
Of a loving look or a beautiful face.
There are no "rights" or "wrongs."
True love is eternal, a spiritual thing.
Fantasy is fleeting and allows us to sing

And imagine. So all you poets write on!
All you singers, until you've won,
That one heart... Sing! All who try
To become immortal by sharing their view
Of the splendor in a glowing, evening sky
Or the tingling result of an "I love you."

Isn't that every poet's dream?
To have someone read their words and beam
Today, tomorrow, next month, next year...
Or maybe in another century someone may hear
Or read or speak as I have these
words written millenia ago and set adrift
In bottles to drift across the seas
Of time and space in hopes to someday lift
A spirit or a heart or an eager mind.
Maybe a poet in a thousand years may find

My words inspiring. What more is there?
What more can we wish? That's why we share
Our souls. That's why we bleed
Our thoughts onto paper. That's why we sing.
So that others will look and read...
On the tiny chance our words might bring
The feeling I had when I read
What these two ancient men thought and said.