There are dangers every poet knows:
The Lake of Goo, and mindfields filled with words
Defective; emotion twisting their prose,
Or adherence to a form which can blur
Function – risking misinterpretation.
Still they muddle, matching rhythm and rhyme
In little songs to show admiration;
Praise courting immortality while time
Demands submission. Although memory
Will fade away, these verses shall endure
Forever – love sans ambiguity;
Bestowed with reverence and intent pure.
Absent voice, I pen my exaltation:To Venus, and Muse, in celebration.