Poet In Disguise
Why would a poet be in disguise?
Who could such a poet be?
For a man to look you in the eyes,
Then to silence your heart with lies,
Could not, my friend, a poet be.
This to me it seems for sure,
For if ever a man a poet were,
He to you would surely endure.
That your rhymes at times perchance sing another beat,
Is why your words spring with heat,
For therein lies the true beauty of a writer,
Your gift of tongue makes many lives lighter.
If in white lies your soul has felt darker,
Then, with what I call, a real man’s magic marker,
I bestow upon you the mark of truth,
For truth you speak and truth you are,
And truthfully I read your heart from afar.
Of advise received you speak mournfully,
For it was spoken by a ghost,
A pen, a darling, a man you admired most.
But I say to you, you who dwell so high and low,
That less bitter times you shall come to know.
Bitter pills, bitter chills, bitter words less bitter makes us better,
But from bitterness golden apples sometimes grow.
Surely you know this, surely you know,
In grace I see you, in grace you run,
Through fields of flowers you go,
Never however do I see you,
Running in fields of snow.
Walk away then, walk away,
Just walk a way not silently,
Without your words the world would be,
Not just less one worthy rose
But a rose whose prose is meant for eternity.
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