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A Poet's Lament

by Charlie Morgan






i know how you feel when you write
words that to you are so clear.
yet critics mumble--they say it's so trite,
and it hurts like hell, for you have no peer.
meaning: they don't get 'cause it's not them
who's own blood is words, that critics stem
when you say what's happening inside your Being:
the thinking, the feeling, hurting and Seeing.
yet, write we must, there's little explaining
for what's churning inside, the waxing, the waning
of our hearts, our minds and life's foretelling
of the laughter, tears, the roses we're smelling.
fret not, for we'll stop when the words are gone
and can't be retraced on papyrus or stone.
cry they will at that junction of space and time;
left wordless, so too, the world with no rhyme.
so, i for one will write til i expire,
until my hearts gives out, neurons don't fire.
the thoughts i think, feelings i feel
the drums i beat, the songs i trill
will keep me moving and gladly trudging along
so out of my way, critize em, move on.

03/23/2005

Posted on 03/23/2005
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 03/24/05 at 04:46 PM

Write on!!!!

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