There Are No Bounds To Where We Poets Go
Where on Earth or far beyond do we poets go, you ask.
My thoughts willingly stretch my imagination with this task.
I would reply...in any direction our ink chooses to flow.
To the light of dawn or to dark telltale shadows of Poe
There are no boundaries that could rein in a poet's mind,
even if we have the mournful misfortune of going blind.
A poet is not harnessed by sight like a horse to a carriage.
From memory our vision serves us in a sort of marriage,
a bond without rings and vows that gives us wings to fly
among stars, or to realms a common man cannot descry.
To know sin's sorrow, we would walk through a fiery hell
if it would give us the insight that living could not quell.
Inspiration is our weapon, feathered arrows we shoot,
aiming for the rhyming words and chasing in hot pursuit.
Though our muse flees, and crumbled pages lie at our feet,
our mind struggles in unrest but will not concede defeat.
On ventured missions, traveling where our hearts will lead.
Among distant galaxies, where we collect poetic seed
to plant in fertile delta land or in sandy deserts on Earth,
cultivating cogent lines, to which our scribing gives birth.
Fathering or mothering verses from infancy to fruition.
Editing until at last, our brainchild is worthy of submission.
We see far beyond mundane realities of life and reason.
Writing from the heart, rebuking the penalty of treason.
We wind through mazes of each personal poetic anecdote.
Exposed is our nakedness in each lyrical line we ever wrote.
June 20, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney.
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