by
What is there to make the heart swell
Against those ungovernable desires?
Wars; showdowns at
The corral
The jungle
The beach
The half-learned lessons class
The thin stream of info-wire
Signifying new battlegrounds
Sneaky. Anonymously mean
And wrong
Stabbing at our rucksacks
Full of unused Gods
•
What poetry can hold
What it can’t
Anger controlled
By rhyme or meter
Impolite bluster
Baroque or scant
Edgy words on pages teeter
Sweet noises overrun morning thunder
Evening song diminished in
Skeins of days torn asunder
•
May November carry our souls
From a hell lined with poetry stole
From that Shredded Parchment,
Now lying in confetti baskets,
To be strewn in ignorant rapture,
Over brides, babies, and caskets
Gwen's World 
Poets are the prophets of literature and with this the writing is on the wall.
Thank you for your beautifully poetic comment.