Oh Sadness

Alas, t'would mean the words would weep
Alone in unconstructed phrase
Hanging fruit ne'er to be picked
Nor fall to seed again.

No swords succumb in verbal joust
To plow shares love of peace
No flower passed to maiden fair
To adorn the flax of wind blown hair.

No Mariners to tell their tale
Of thirsting decks sun bleached
No fully clothed, yet naked kings
No twisted word that laughs, yet stings.

As rainbows weep and shadows flee
Sweet words lay fallow in the fields
Pen-less poets hide from sight
Surrendering their shields.

1/22/2020

What if there were no poets
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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Hawkins Avatar
May 2, 2020 at 11:59 PM
Thank you for sharing this sad but beautiful poem. We all need to be reminded at times the wonderful gifts that we have been given should be cherished not abused. And if things are abused for long enough they die...
Pigeon Tart Avatar
January 22, 2020 at 9:41 PM
Wow. A winner for me. Superb pening. xomo
Lane Avatar
January 22, 2020 at 4:46 PM
What a wonderful comparison of "hanging fruit ne're to be picked" to poetry left unwritten. Many seeds have been grown by poets that were planted in the thoughts of others to create new crops, but fallow would be the fields if not for poets. Your list of analogies are perfect.
Lawless Avatar
January 25, 2020 at 1:33 PM
Thank you Lin, your interest and insight is always welcome.
Laurie Avatar
January 22, 2020 at 4:43 PM
G'day John … you portrayed a sad world that could be in your poetic verse, but thankfully the poets are surviving - thanks John - Lindsay
Lawless Avatar
January 25, 2020 at 1:31 PM
Yes it seems that the legacy of the poet warriors is being carried forward. Now is we could just stop fighting among ourselves. Thanks for stopping by to comment.
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