The Poet and the Poem

Oh! To be loved by the poem, The stanzas by the universe Every word a star, Period a blue sphere and Lapse of Eternity. Deep eyes of Nova Staring at a mere me On a sphere of petty weigh In the silence of chaotic plane A stare and it all comes to pause The works of world, Sun let to dry and Moon an ashen rock, Waves of blue expanse, winds and light All are at halt. I in a millionth of a million of continuing cosmo, stand still For am I even deserving of being the poet of a poem by the universe? Of forsaking my name at the end with a tilde? This tranquility of a stare! Why does it ache? Yet so in order In peace