Revolution
When poets fall in love,
The gods themselves weep
For they know of the souls,
The minds,
The hearts
That will be unhinged
And yet mended.
Each breath rolls off their tongues
Into a fiery gust of passion
And unspeakable syllables
That could rock the world.
Their sheer power
Creates another dimension
Where blank pages are battlefields
And words are the weapons.
Maybe the haunting whispers,
Echoing in the mind
Of every unborn child
From the ear-shattering eruption
Of the clashing limbs of lovers,
Will spark the revolution
Of broken minds
And open hearts.