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Passing my cursed blessings to the impending poet

Well, it’s graceful;
That in simple order you’ll see the world from where I stood,
Where the noble word prodded the feeble 
And oddly fed them the odium 

It’s graceful,
That you will speak even in silence,
Like a pugnacious ghost chained to a steely mass!

That the potency of words will quite your lilting brain,
And you shall walk through the same path I walked on my first call to ingratiate myself with the poets.
I will return and you will go on,
You will go on and I will return.

So open your heart far and wide,
For with your modes your road been laid concrete
But the common questions will come up to you and you will ask yourself;

Did I in obtuse panoply of senile write recollection usher in the barren poem?
Did I get the wrong idea or you misread my write
And umpired me through the entices of your derision light?

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