Pity for poetry

It's a pity for poetry, a day of final reflection
Oh yes times have changed
Nothing can bring back those glory days
A meaning, a purpose, a soul, a life of it's own.

What we have here, is a failure to communicate
To truly open our mouths, eyes, minds, and above all most
Our hearts, our souls, to bare everything with all you have
All you've lost, all that you have gained and learned.

When what we bring to the operating table
Where our pens, quils, pencils and markers become the scalpel
We only destroy that of which we create, with sick precision
Ire and grace, we flatline our noble intentions.

It's a pity for poetry, a day of final reflection
It's a pity for poetry, for long lost loved days are past
It's a pity for poetry, when beauty becomes the beast.