"The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say,
but what we are unable to say." ~Anais Nin
but what we are unable to say." ~Anais Nin
The Role of a Writer
This is truly the mark of greatness,
This is truly the mark of greatness,
but have all the noble poems
been written by classical masters
and the gifted poets of today?
Are there meaningful works
still left to pen,
not merely big words
from our swollen egos
spilling their contents
spilling their contents
at the whim of a moment,
nor with the simplistic meanderings
of joy, or grief, or love?
To answer my own question,
To answer my own question,
I say write on, dear poets.
Allow not your words
to decay unwritten
in the brilliant minds of today
where they'll lie barren and unread
where they'll lie barren and unread
only to wither and crack and parch
as clay in the desert.
I do believe there are jewels
left to be written.
But if we must write,
But if we must write,
it should be for the future,
for the common man
who will gain most from
these words he cannot write.
We have an obligation
to write in a way
that he may glean what he can
from writings of poetic merit,
not stumble through
obscure words which are,
to him, as bird droppings
on a splintered windowsill,
left to die in obscurity
gathering nothing but dust.
If we must write,
If we must write,
let us write for those who are unable,
so the future might find our words
alive and fertile, their tilled soil
begun as thoughts and feelings
first seeded in keen minds,
then sown into black and white,
rich and green and lush,
to live on in future hearts and minds
even as we crumble, ashes to ashes,
and blow away, dust to dust.
May we always write
May we always write
not to say what we can all say,
but what we are unable to say
-- not for the now, but for forever.
2 comments:
A Poet’s Quill
My Quill is dying
My Blotter’s wet
My Tears are falling
My words regret
My Heart is hurting
My Feeling jest
My Soul is searching
For Eternal rest.
My Quill has spoken
These immortal words
The strokes
I have written
Will be the last words
My Quill is gone
Though I rest
I still think,
of the Poet’s Quest.
To find the words
That make us best.
Dedicated to
all Poets Past & Present
A Poeatreeman
“The Quill will be the Poet’s Soul”
“Immortalize in Every Word!”
Edgar Allan Prieto
6/29/2007
A Quill’s Soul
The Quill will Speak
The Ink will flow
The Word well written
As Truth will know
The Blotter absorbs
The Spirit's Essence's
Lines are flowing
Through Heart and Soul
The Quill will follow
The Poet's Hand.
Remembering!
It will Speak;
At God's Command.
A Poeatreeman
Edgar Allan Prieto
7/1/2007
Copyright ©2007 Edgar Allan Prieto
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