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Poem

Poesy requires skill and meter,
     and a bard of golden heart;
or he will tire and teeter.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

A bard must seek inspiration, 
     and write with love and art
to create grace with elevation.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

A divine gift from the Nine Muses
     and Apollo, poesy never departs
from the bard destiny chooses.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

When the bard's dormant afflatus
     wakes, the world will witness the start 
of his Muse's creative genius. 
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

Poesy's not for the dilettante,
     nor the weak and faint of heart,
the cavalier or nonchalant!
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

More austere than science or math,
     poesy demands the mind of Descartes,
and the will for the Pierian path.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

Poesy acts like gravity for rhyme:
     it keeps it from flying apart
in this universe of Parnassian time.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

Poesy is sometimes speechless beauty
     that's difficult to express or impart,
like Creation's vast infinity.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

Poesy can soothe the soul
     at the deepest, innermost part,
where body and spirit are whole.
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

Poesy sometimes makes no sense;
     but—as in love—be true to your heart:
for it makes all the difference!
“Ars longa, vita brevis.”

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