poet’s plight

by anthony

Could a poet survive in a literal society?

A creature that breathes metaphor,

that lives between the lines,

feeds on nothing but curiosity;

are we being driven to extinction?


I have long spent my life

in the corners of society

scratching away the minutes

with thoughts of indifference and matter

I have forced upon myself


to define for others

what I found within simple existence

Sitting in the candlelit darkness

of the crevices within this bedrock town,

I have obsessed over beauty and

stared at the efforts of insecure absurdity;

too long have I cherished the desire

of the passion I witnessed

being cast to winds

for and of

pure self-indulgence;

staring into thousands of eyes

that stare back with thousands of thoughts,

I have never been quite so assured

to dare to know myself as I am seen.


Mystery for the sake of deep emotions

is an insult to the struggles of the true artist;

It often dilutes the richness of human complexity

allowing the observer to claim asylum;

inside the excuses of complacency

it prevents us from understanding the lines of honesty

demands transparency

creates distrust.


Could it be we have, at last, grown to believe

that we could do anything

rather than revel in the much simpler

gifts of who we really are?

diminished dire originality,

stripped the strife of agonizing effort

that is involved with absorbing the words

of the past?


Temper the intention of the thinker

and the mind’s electricity begins to fade

the lights go down

the pain goes away.


In a literal society

we accept rather than challenge

attack as opposed to step back

we refuse our instincts for sanity


In a literal society

we expect rather than search


with no journey

for what purpose does the poet’s existence have?