Poets peer through tiny windows
To touch a world left unseen
By velveteen and silver rope
And still unclean we cling to hope

No longer shall the trees quiver.
The sliver of ink that flows so deep
And yet it seems to never sleep

Gone are the days of glue bond wrapping
Stitched together by taint of tether
The loves quill so hard to tame
Beside the beat of passions name

Coiled words of countless ages
Mark the past in dusty pages
Even if the countless ages carried through
The world has turned and things anew

Tiny windows take their place
Where now we write with a face
Heartbreak burns and lovers quiver
And darkness cowers beyond the sliver
Taint of hand and faint of heart
The poet waits to share their chant