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The Poet in Twelve Lines

Eureka, a thought, a pause, a word unwritten, floats above him A sign to this gullible soul, a warning, depression may soon strike The poet smiles inside, no buffoonery here, his fingers tensed, ready Brain alert, hands freed to strike the keys, to make language appear He is not just a putter down of words, he lives inside an extraordinary world Empathy, his spectacular gift, phrases shared to bare the wounds and pleasures of Mankind Ubiquitous, should be the poet's middle name, his verse is truth, found everywhere In mountain village, towering cityscape or humble home, the poet's lines are read and spoken In them, his expression of love, of life, of folly is understood, passed from one to the other Groups will gather to discuss, to share his thoughts, his written word Black letters placed on paper, his inner songs spread to open ears and willing hearts Imagination fired in others by the fingers of a solitary person, depression defeated again today Admitted Poetry Soup 5/18 poem submitted 5/31/18

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 11/13/2018 1:33:00 PM
No, the poem is there. I've sent email to poetry soup to ask what happened.
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Robert Bellam
Date: 11/16/2018 9:43:00 AM
I had put an < in front of the poem which stopped it from being seen. Thanks, I finally found out what was wrong
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Darlene De Beaulieu
Date: 11/13/2018 5:56:00 PM
Robert this poem is not there.Did you get your answer? Let me know what happensOkay.
Date: 11/13/2018 12:12:00 PM
Hello Robert, I pressed onto this poem to read it, only to discovered it was not printed. I am thinking you forgot to write this poem.
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Darlene De Beaulieu
Date: 11/20/2018 12:50:00 PM
Hello Robert, I am glad that you found this poem. I have read this poem twice. I like the verses two , three and four. have a nice day my friend.