stand up poet

They saw me as cold silver,
not hot enough to heat
then in the cauldron of flames,
hotter than sun did they heat
and out of minced meat
they created a genius

the credit goes to them
for casting silver,
tomorrow’s gold in a frame
where we will be held,
till we are old
then archived
then nature will submerge
then years hence beyond imagination
of a passing phase of time
someone will unearth the frame
paled, cleaned then polished
and some day
one day,
they will all say
a poet passed this way

But as on the threshold of time
along a cliff I stand waiting
a breeze stronger than my knees
till then will poets withstand a poetic hand
and within the blinking of an eye,
we all will be blown into the tunnel
the poet still calls
Time.....
time has not yet come
but twill!
till then let’s all remain sublime
till its time...