Song of the Poet

A poet full of noise you empty of sound A pilgrimage you have trodden under ground With every seed that nature drops Without rain the seeds will wither out Is this the time of the season Have the nightingale lost their song Immortality does not exist A voice composted seeps into the abyss Who will hasten to regenerate A poet’s noise from an empty space Will anyone rebel against conformity Or join the pilgrimage of the poets plight