The voice of a poet soft and dulcet in its tone

or harsh, abrasive, cutting, and reaching to the core,

moves freely like the wind, touching, circulating,

and speaking only, and always, to those who wish to hear.

Ideology, philosophy, wishful thinking, memories,

unsubstantiated dreams, and hopes, wishes, needs,

woven like a tapestry too soon to be outdated

and discarded like a heap of old and musty books.

In a fire of these times volumes and manuscripts

will burn and be forgotten like bodies of the dead

and cynics will grow to outnumber those who know

till all and everything disappears into the air.

How pointless, how degrading, how useless is intent

to expose to the already wise the wisdom of the old

or shine like a star in the path of a blind man

in the knowledge that he has no eyes to see.

And the lilies in the valley, sunsets, mountains, hills,

all viewed and assessed from standpoints of the known

recede into the background as if they don’t exist

like love that is annihilated on human battlegrounds.

Too numerous the setbacks and too far away the moon

to highlight a soul within the shell of flesh

and the voice of a poet disappears into the dust

to be trodden on and crushed by life’s intolerance.

The air once thin, sustaining, grows thick and thicker now

with the absorption of …

simply all and everything!

Related Poems

• Emotive vibes
• The road of dreams
• Flags
• Denial
• Sand is sand