“FACADS”
Awakened by a dream so real it caused me fright, I found myself at the table with coffee and cigarettes through the early morning hours of gray, pre dawn light. Where there is pen and paper and a dawn not yet come, there remain words unspoken and a job for the poet left undone. Broken hearts and dreams that don’t come true are naught but fuel for the poets fires. To mend a heart that cared and to sate a dreamer who dared are surely thus the poet’s desire.
The ones who love me most are always saying it is so hard to communicate with me, but I’ve yet to meet a poet who could open up and ramble on for hours the way Politicians do. Politicians are puppets reading the words that others write. How many of you have ever seen their speech writers shaking hands or defining themes on a campaign night? Politicians speak of promises and the things they are going to do, poets speak of wildflowers, loving, and yes, of hurting too. The Politician’s words are spoken but once then lost forever to the winds of change. The words of the poet are spoken with pen and paper and throughout eternity do the poets words remain.
Promises made during the heat of a campaign will surely never be mistaken for the promise of rebirth softly murmured by a gentle summer rain. If every Politician knew that he would be faced with every word ever spoken, how much shorter would the televised debates become? I would suppose not much more than a crowd pleasing one line joke or two.
The poet cannot be misquoted by an unfavorable press, for his thoughts are quite clearly visible to everyone displayed as they are in black and white. He has no predecessor to blame for whatever is found wrong, he has only the depths of a caring soul through which to search to find the rhymes of a love song to help us all through one more lonely night.
Reflecting upon all the barriers a poet must overcome to find the key to unlock the understanding chained in the darkened corners of the souls of man, is it any wonder that Politicians are in teeming abundance and of poets there are so very few?
Try to understand, if seldom I speak to you of the things in my heart. For the thoughts of my mind, when I do relate them to you, they will surely be most trusting you will find. A Politician I’m not, of promises I have very few. Rather, I’m your brother, your friend and your son. But, first, I am a poet and there are so many things that only a poet can do. I share all that I can of my heart with you. Be patient, be forgiving, try to see the poetry in the little things that I do for you. I love you. Accept that, for it is honest and true. I may have some difficulty relating in speech my love for you, but there have been so awfully many times that I have versed it for you.
Awakened by a dream so real it caused me fright, I found myself at the table with coffee and cigarettes through the early morning hours of gray, pre dawn light. Where there is pen and paper and a dawn not yet come, there remain words unspoken and a job for the poet left undone. Broken hearts and dreams that don’t come true are naught but fuel for the poets fires. To mend a heart that cared and to sate a dreamer who dared are surely thus the poet’s desire.
The ones who love me most are always saying it is so hard to communicate with me, but I’ve yet to meet a poet who could open up and ramble on for hours the way Politicians do. Politicians are puppets reading the words that others write. How many of you have ever seen their speech writers shaking hands or defining themes on a campaign night? Politicians speak of promises and the things they are going to do, poets speak of wildflowers, loving, and yes, of hurting too. The Politician’s words are spoken but once then lost forever to the winds of change. The words of the poet are spoken with pen and paper and throughout eternity do the poets words remain.
Promises made during the heat of a campaign will surely never be mistaken for the promise of rebirth softly murmured by a gentle summer rain. If every Politician knew that he would be faced with every word ever spoken, how much shorter would the televised debates become? I would suppose not much more than a crowd pleasing one line joke or two.
The poet cannot be misquoted by an unfavorable press, for his thoughts are quite clearly visible to everyone displayed as they are in black and white. He has no predecessor to blame for whatever is found wrong, he has only the depths of a caring soul through which to search to find the rhymes of a love song to help us all through one more lonely night.
Reflecting upon all the barriers a poet must overcome to find the key to unlock the understanding chained in the darkened corners of the souls of man, is it any wonder that Politicians are in teeming abundance and of poets there are so very few?
Try to understand, if seldom I speak to you of the things in my heart. For the thoughts of my mind, when I do relate them to you, they will surely be most trusting you will find. A Politician I’m not, of promises I have very few. Rather, I’m your brother, your friend and your son. But, first, I am a poet and there are so many things that only a poet can do. I share all that I can of my heart with you. Be patient, be forgiving, try to see the poetry in the little things that I do for you. I love you. Accept that, for it is honest and true. I may have some difficulty relating in speech my love for you, but there have been so awfully many times that I have versed it for you.