Poetry is Dying ...

What ever happened to the language of love?
Rumi and Yeats have transformed into Lady Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas.
Where are the mysterious eyes and the warm words?
Where are the flowers? Why hasn't anyone tried to uncover my truth?
Why hasn't anyone slowed down to hear my heart beat?
Don't they know that I am naked and waiting for the stars to shower their light through these eyes and press wisdom through these lips?
Texting is more common. Drinking is easy. Sex is simple.
But genuine, true connection is going out of style.
I don't want to stand by and watch poetry die.
I will be the hopeful romantic in the age of chaos.
I will continue to sing in cafes and bars and on your screen, just to keep poetry alive.
My skin is waiting through these cloudy days for a touch from our sun.
These, my days of waiting, will no longer be consumed with emptiness.
I will fill each precious moment with the language of love.
This way, we humans will survive this genocide of the mind, this destruction of intimacy.
And as we sing and listen to these songs, we will celebrate a new beginning of genuine connection, creative communication, and true love.