Oft Woe Is Sorrows, of Mere Mortal Men
Oft Woe Is Sorrows, Of Mere Mortal Men
Of fine artist brush and true poet's pen
oft woe is sorrows, of mere mortal men.
Tho' great the powers, sun's glow in blue skies
majestic the beauty, in dawns bright rise.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
What verse can such magnificence reveal
more so than inked truth that searching poets feel.
From revelations of heart's deep desires
to blazing flames of romantic fires.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Dare we beg our muse, cast unto us more
of immense depths from which others did score.
Gift hearts, souls and minds creativity
or beauty even in versed brevity?
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
What of importance of the sad and black
do we ignore from courage we may lack.
Nay! Ours is to set truth on its gold throne
tho, on that journey we may trek alone.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
When begging paper, cries for new black ink
of course from both heart and mind we must think.
And with purpose write to all, as a gift
Life, Love, Inspiration that so uplifts.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Under Nature's blue skies that beg our praise
dare we give verse light, to cut world's dark haze.
Endeavor to create what time will note
with blessings, take great pride in what we wrote?
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-12-2019
Rhyme, ( A Poet's Heart Must Accept Its Truest Calling )
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