The Poet
Can one know the name of the poet?
I think not.
For they themselves are unsure as to
their true identity.
For they are the painter, the storyteller,
the linguist, the historian, the dreamer
and dream catcher.
They give and take away in words
that which is longed for, that which is
sought after, the unobtainable.
And yet in a few brief words worlds are
created, dreams are dreamed and adventures
begun.
Within the poet are all that we desire, all that
we hate, all that we love and long for.
The poet is the unknown and yet their words have
a familiar sound, a familiar vision of that which was,
that which is and that which is to become.
They are the invited and thee uninvited guests of
the mind and of the heart and of the soul.
Compelled to be read because of some faintly
remembered line.
They are the lover for the faint-hearted, who with
trembling hand copies that which has already been
written and is now desired to be read.
The poet is in each of us, mysterious, unobtainable,
unknowable.
And yet...somehow we feel that...
Copyright © Robert Harrison | Year Posted 2019
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