Saturday, March 02, 2019
That softly caresses, that cuts to bone,
That seals sudden breaches, that drives a wedge;
Whetted berm of a blade that poets hone.
To whittle at life until myths emerge,
To carve fantasy from biography,
Releases a deep-seated need to purge
The dust of turmoil, the fog of ennui.
But the prideful poet, a prince of verse,
(At least, in his fevered and frenzied mind,)
Can cut too deeply, too quickly, or worse
Disfigure life's story, abrupt, unkind --
Declaiming his truth as though from God's grace,
Spreading his dogma all over the place.
Reminder: Pretty words may be dangerous weapons as well as powerful tools.
Posted by Mick at 4:39 PM