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 )