A Pome Wot I Rote

Okay, so having had a chance to sleep on it, I've found it desirable to revise this poem, which I wrote yesterday. I've kept the ridiculous title. Here is the revised version.


Welcome to DoubleDare, 
you movers and shakers,
you takers of chances
and daredevil dreamers.
Come, you poets and painters,
designers and sculptors,
make your romances,
play your staves, your lines,
your rhymes, your speeches
on the stage of the mind’s eye.
Come, you whose art 

delivers meaning
to the meaningless dark,
light the humdrum with your
hopeful glances
and sagacious glimpses of
worlds imagined out of the void
turning to the rhythm of your
quickening dances.
Come, surfing the ages
with a song on time’s breakers.
Speak of your castles and towers
in loud yet sagacious whispers.
Raise cathedrals of sound
with a sweep of your bow,
the caress of your keys,
the kiss of reeds
that free the bars of song and sunlight
through the stained glass you made in
in the blank slate of oblivion.
Come, caress the ivories that
birth new formations,
like sculptures of light
on mountainsides forming
portraits of the morrow that
smile in their dawning
and with the deftest of fingers
strum the chord that wakens
the acorn of creation
in the hearts of our children.
Come, be the oak
in the fresh light of morning,
the drum of its heartbeat,
the thrill of life pulsing
in the sweep of its branches,
your ideas embracing
its manifold voices alive
with the trill
of your triumphant chorus.
Welcome!

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