A Poet More Respected Was

In ancient days of Celtic lore
The poet sat but second to
One man — that was the King
Of colors who wore but one more
To lend him its prestige unto
And honor to him bring

In that fair day, in that fair age
One didn’t make a poet mad
Because that poet straight would write
Onto his very next blank page
A parody of you so bad
To all your enemies’ delight

That never more might you regain
The trust of those whose trust you need
To help to get you through the day
Your life thenceforward full of pain
Because you failed to timely heed
His warning that he’d make you pay



Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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