Poetry for Rea

In those first flintsparks we call dawn at the time of the Almighty's Eden, after a rib became a heart; before sin, when fruit was merely eaten. Spoken word, once crowned, became art reigning where it beats but never beaten, dissolved as love into the flesh promising this bitter life to sweeten. Cast outas all on wings of sin Poetry lost, was all but forgotten. Hardened by the metal ages, times of war left it as a corpse, rotten. When higher minds such as the Greeks cleaned its tattered soul to white, as cotton. Love odes, loss, laughter, tears and pain now dance on paper more than only blotten. Through the years in many guises, it bloomed as many flowers, a bouquet. From continent to Ireland, Poetry to your isle found a way. It waited for you to enter and take your hand as in marriage, always. It chose you as its new castle, born long ago, this Poetry for Rea.