Too many a scribe who fetches from distant shores,
a sconce and listens awhile, the sea unfolds great wonders,
the sirens from the deep are heard, the poet knows too well,
the secrets it offers up.
Long dead poets come to life, newness is breathed into them
long stilled lungs, no one forgets them, though they sleep
forevermore in graves created too early for some and others,
long awaiting its grasp to drag them to hell and back,
never forgotten, yet lifted up by many of us today.
Man has created verse throughout the Universe, its silence has
never been stilled, the words of poet’s echo throughout the corridors
of castles, churches, parliaments and learned places.
On many a road twisted and less travelled, in back lanes, shops, brothels
and jails, the poet swelled. Many alone in the darkness, mad with passion
and inspiration they could not be silenced.
A prisoner locked away to be forgotten, yet they managed to scratch
their verse to surface and be transcribed for all generations to enjoy. The
Marquis left his mark, erotica was born, and for many it adorned from Kings
and Queens to the young ones reading secretly behind their chamber doors.
Poetry can not be shut out, its ashes though buried with authors
of long ago, it rises up and comes forth through others it finds and enabling
the Muses left to carry on and seek the poets who open their souls
and hearts to receive them, many will do so, others will wish they could, struggling
to bend a verse or two they leave in rhyme, yet failing to stir the hearts of man-kind.
© Copyright Vincent Moor. All Rights Reserved.