The Poet's Soul
The sturdy pen sits in a pool of blood;
A scarred piece of paper writhes in pain;
The scabbed hand tries to rise
With a wish to write again...
Across a river of words, not long back,
The Warriors had weaved a wondrous wall;
Wherefore is lost the forgotten lore
Of Strength that stood them firm and tall?
Making desperate efforts to stand,
Over they rise, again to fall;
For however much they try to rhyme,
They cannot rhyme with life at all...
'tis now the poet's Soul that must bring forth another
song:
His heart and sinew may have stopped now, but not for
very long...
Copyright © Akash Yadav | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment