Gods And Poets
As I wandered through the bookstore
The one that I always dwell
I looked around at the sea of books
And understood what it is they sell
Amongst all the dead poets
And authors yet to be
There seemed to be an air of whispers
That were calling out to me
My favorite aisle of course
Is where the poets sleep
Bronte, Poe, Robert Frost
Their wells were running deep
were they Gods and Poets?
Or Poets and Gods?
It is still quite a mystique
A whisper here of genius
A whisper there of pain
So much living to be done
And so little yet to gain
For putting pen to paper
Is the hardest part of all
One must give in to their passions
And be not afraid to fall
The whispers getting louder now
As I pass each wondrous book
As if they all were bidding me
To come and have a look
My favorite poet once said;
“A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow”.
And that has to be so true
The mind of a great poet
Like a well oiled machine must subdue
The daily thoughts and endless words
An Endless sea of blue.
By Ladyjane1
Inspired by MFB III