What Poets Have To Do
We come, we write, we leave a thought
Though far beyond what we are taught
These words on paper that we bleed
If only some would come and read
They might just find the phrases feel
Of every thing we know is real
But no, the walls are far too high
To let another wander by
We see the names atop a list
In hopes that others can’t resist
When days apart the blanks are shown
Of stanzas sitting all alone
Yet here we go now once again
The ink escapes from in our pen
To post a piece that none will view
It’s just what poets have to do
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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