Riddles & Rhymes
Then at other times the poets they see, just what was meant in those lines that please.
Even the simplest can bring the words back. And again share we poets the words in our sack.
Amazing the power of words as they say. They heal the wounds or cut to the grey.
But always they're there for whatever they're worth. Tis true that we poets were poets at birth.
The rhymes we were taught as kids they resound, teaching us lessons. Some world renowned.
Were written by poets, some such as we. Only later in days was there learning seen,
By the readers. Yes those who found meanings in words, and chose to share them, floating like birds.
Throughout the world to distant lands. To farthest reaches and distant sands.
And so it goes, the lives of we poets. The words will mean something, but at times we don’t know it.
Til we feel they were lost and then so are we. And then gone we are like the fish in the sea.
Kari Shinal Copyright July 10, 2008
The life of a poet is hard to depict, yet sometimes their words are quite exquisite.
Sometimes in riddles, sometimes in rhymes. Even through toughest or easier times.
Many times they write as if by command. But at times they cannot bring the words to their hand.
The words they decide when to come out to play. They come and they sit and at times float away,
Until they are lost and wait for the moment, when open is the mind of the poet.
Life takes its turns, its twists and its rounds. It ties us in knots and fully confounds,
Until words no longer hold their meaning. But written they are sometimes later gleaning,
Some semblance of truth. Some type of hope, or message contained in a much broader in scope.
But only the reader can glean such a thing. The poet has lost Its true meaning.
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