The Power of Poetry

I Climbed rocks winged with words, and paint beauties on my path, invade palaces unhindered, bearing arms welling from this frame. I draw the sword from the scabbard, piercing dictators with a dagger, I cut their cables by this craft, and watched their fickle frame subdued. I soar like eagle in my thoughts, coruscating gleams attending, I see nature's beauty and hear voices, I roam in firce shades in search of jewels, The pulse of fear or grim assails, Yet capapie and undaunted. I see men entrapped in a race, oh! that they might see the filth, and time, how short to pen, these vague and obscure moments. Yet, poetry catches but a few.