Love A Mortal Who Writes Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

This be a farce dictation.
But then,
Love a being who writes

Because a writer
Is a liar.

I will lie about how the
Night flames with the warm waters
But you will never believe me
For I am a liar
With a pen and a paper.

Love a writer
For a writer is a soldier
Regardless of state:
A drunken soldier.
An arrogant soldier.
A morose soldier.
A burning soldier.
Whichever.

Love him
For he is a liar.

He is a prolix garden
Of petty things.
He makes the moon an empire,
And the Sun, an asylum.

He will lie about certain things
With sheer beauty
That none of you
Can contain.

Why love a liar, you might ask?
Listen to a painter as he lies
And he will guise himself with
A shallow palette of colors.
Listen to a businessman lie,
And he will be easily defeated
In a warfare of witticism.
Listen to a doctor lie
But then again, science cannot
Feign states or even a love.

And you can think of any other
Occupation that holds a lie,
And I will tell you

That we are all mortals
Capable of erring,
Of lying.

A mortal who writes elegantly
Will tell an elegant lie -
That is sure.
But then,
The world of mendacity
Is a thing that he loathes.

He will come to his senses
And stop lying.

Love a being who writes
For he is a liar -

A liar turned one
Because of many other lies.

A writer can hold a flame
Without getting his hands burned.
A writer can swim through
Oceans of filth
And not drown.
A writer can go on a warfare
With only himself / herself alone
And that is what
The others lack.
A chivalry of the heart,
The mind,
And soul.

For the world that lies
Behind the verses from
A flamboyant tongue
Will appear a lie to some,

But to those who can read
Adeptly, will take these
As genuinely stable truths.

Love a mortal who writes,
For a mortal who exudes
Confidences in pen and paper
Will learn the ways
Of mendaciloquence

And change his
Or her
Ways

And tell you
All the truths
That you take
As lies.