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Poem

Is it words so hard to comprehend,
     That the poem lover, loves?
That a dictionary must be at hand,
     Just to find the wings of doves.
Do they long for words that seem to flow,
     Like the beat of jungle drums?
Or a circus ride, tossed to and fro,
     As their hunger's fed with crumbs.

Is it new ideas of a shattered man,
     That their soul is looking for?
Or a bridge so weak that it will not span,
     Life's great river, shore to shore.
Do they wish to hear the desperate cries,
     Of a world that's gone astray?
Is there truth their souls will recognize,
     When they read your words today?


THE POET is given a bell to chime;
     And you ought to use it well.
You cannot speak of the upward climb,
     While painting the gates of hell.
You're an instrument of truth, you see,
     There is strength within your words.
You can teach of our souls destiny,
     While creating wings of birds.

It's a high, courageous calling friend,
     And a noble one I'm sure.
If you do not care that there's souls to tend,
     Step aside from heaven's door.
For the people long for a light that guides,
     To a rhythm that will lift.
Catch the wind and sail life's restless tides,
     And be grateful for your gift.


This poem was written in 1987 to serve as a reminder to myself of the kind of 
poet that I wish to be. I know that it is hard to reach these goals, but, they 
are goals that I always want to have. I strive to be led by God's light in my 
writing and I read this poem quite often.

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