Poetry is Truth -- and Truth, Poetry

I Like arrows loosed on time’s swift, racing wings, life’s events conspire to shape each fleeting fate; to me, the gift of Parnassus softly sings, birthing grand songs too vast to narrate. From Pierian springs I drank, like deer that pants, hoping the Muses touch, and Apollo grants. That I might drive his chariot of fire, and stir men’s hearts with fierce, poetic lyre. II With rhymes aflame, I chased the godly heights, like Icarus, I dared the sunlit span; but sing too high, and flame consumes the flights — rebuked, I fell, a humbled mortal man. Yet oaths unbroken drew me back once more, to shape new songs upon death’s shadowed shore. Like specters hearing God’s faint whispered breath, I raced toward hope, and sang myself from death. III Then came my Rose, a muse with goddess hand, whose wisdom opened realms unknown before; Athena-like, she bid my soul expand, and led me through imagination’s door. With her, I reached a place where words fall short, where blooming visions pierce the soul’s report. Through her bright eyes, I found new worlds to write, and traced the lines of undiscovered light. IV At times, dark melancholy gripped my soul, and weeping moods eclipsed the poet’s spark; yet spirit triumphed, rising whole and whole, drawn upward by the word’s resplendent mark. The joys of rhyme, the pulse of written art, uplift the weary, mend the fractured heart. Like soaring eagles winging through the blue, poetry lifts, endows, and makes life new. V If beauty’s truth, then poetry is truth; and truth, in turn, is beauty shaped in song. These verses, born of joy and pain and youth, remind the soul where dreams and hopes belong. In every line, the heart’s true pulse is caught, and through each word, the soul’s deep lessons taught. So let the world contend with what we see: poetry is truth — and truth, poetry!