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