Thursday, July 30, 2009

Poets of the World

Shattered hearts pave the streets
On the long and winding rain-soaked road
to no where and every where,
to the places inside our souls
that no one can remember
This world of ours is a treacherous place
And against time we all must race
The fight for survival
The urge to belong
The confusion, profusion of unabashed emotions
And still, powerful waves exist to pull us under
To throw us against the rocks to be ripped asunder
They say this world is too ugly for poets
People are so disenchanted, disconnected
Some lost, some bleeding…
Humans are born into it crying and screaming
Hopes and dreams are murdered at every corner
Yet every soul has a story to tell
Every tear shed has a song
And within every heart is a poet
Biting his tongue against insecurity
But among all this madness
It’s the Poets who rise up with a burning fire,
like alchemists turning iron into gold
Ugliness into a tapestry of human existence
They say this world is too ugly for poets
Yet if there were none, then fleeting beauty
Would never be captured
Never be sung about
Never be heard…
And no one would know
what lies beyond
The other bend, the other hill
And who would speak of hope?

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