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Pick Yourself Up Dust Yourself Down

Pick Yourself Up – Dust Yourself Down

Is there a glimmer of hope in this convoluted soup
Is there a sign that all is not such a cock-a-hoop?
I came in here with blind hope and faith
And sit here now with a sweet bitter taste

A poem I’d read after such a relaxing night
Tore at my heart with such fierce might
From one of poetry soup’s own “elite”
Threw her splintered soul down at our feet

Like many she’d felt that alluring pull
That, in its time, had made her feel full
Had filled her world, her life, her words
Now she’s left feeling so absurd

Betrayed? Or was it something more?
A hint of love, through silken words galore
We’ve all seen and heard the literary whore
Who builds you up then knocks down your door

How many times over these electronic years
Have we seen people left in tears
By the ruthless cyber predators
These cruel emotional interlopers

Whose whispers woo and wind and wend
Through frail emotions that they transcend
Until the soul thief’s goal reaches its end
Leaving shattered hearts that’ll never mend

But the poet that lingers within us all
Lulls damaged minds with an incessant call
Cuts through self-doubt and low self esteem
Reminds us it’s not all as it seems

Instils words to our damaged minds
Washes over actions and phrases so unkind
And builds us up once again
Gives us the courage to pick up our pen

No muse, nobody - outside influence
Will ever give us such confidence
But inside us all that incessant urge
Encourages us for our souls to purge

So let them out: those emotions raw
Throw open wide the windows and doors
Burst forth with words from your very core
Leave people pleading for more and more

So pick yourself up - dust yourself down
Do not sit and mope with a morbid frown
Unleash the poet, the scribe, the clown
Reach for that pen and “go to town”











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