|
~ 1 ~
How gentle is the touch of soothing thought,
That must be shared and yet cannot be bought,
How meaningful, how sacred and divine,
The unique words scribed in a Poet's Rhyme.
How tragic when 'tis stolen by a thief,
Becoming a rival to lesser thoughts of grief,
That with an empty heart the poet sighs,
For something deep inside his sad soul dies.
What would a flower be without its hue?
What of the painter's art so uniquely true?
And while it may be copied many times;
(For thunder stolen, claps in a thousand rhymes)
'Tis sacred; every thought a poet writes,
That brings sad sorrow or with joy delights.
~ 2 ~
Is then one selfish to retain what he must share?
As a unique phrase thus being without compare,
Created in a mind that has no goal,
Except to cleanse with truth his complex soul.
Most of one's words are simple and discreet,
That like a burp the writer might repeat,
But a phrase that clings uniquely to the mind,
Is a phrase that took a thousand years to find,
And written in a verse for all to read,
Remains a treasure in the poet's creed.
That which is created from one's thoughts in rhyme,
That like a star among other stars that shine,
Is uniquely scribed a testament to his claim ,
That it be ever linked with his good name.
~ 3 ~
Reversing words do not their truth deny,
Nor by their use in any form do lie,
But he who pens the thought retains the scene,
Formed from the ingredients his inner eye has seen.
'Tis all the words of poets from the past,
That make ones search for uniqueness ever last,
Much has been scribed by many famous bards,
And to use the words of another's rhyme retards,
The art itself and the talents and the skills,
Of those whose thoughts are expressed through many quills.
Though temptation might lure some to meet their shame,
Using another's words that may well bring them fame,
It is quite amoral to steal another's shirt,
That from the noble path of dignity they desert.
|