It is good. I write poetry
or else in this world (of love). (of kindness). (of God all over the place).
I would have gone mad.
And then, there are those who say
Good. he writes poetry-. He is mad.
In this world (of hate) (of trespass) (back stabs) (pain)
(secret Hitlers waiting for a Reich)
how can he go on, and be just a dreamer?
He should assume responsibilities.
Isn't it sad,
poetry knows the final triumph of love & lust
and they do not know
that in both ways you are made,
of stone on moss and moss on stone
poetry is truth's wildflower?