Poets surely have a deep
sense of giving, a need
to feed, a need to
satisfy thirst, a need
to fill our lamps with oil
and place in a window
to direct strangers
through the dark
Humanity is a storm,
and we sigh through the tempest
knowing it will pass,
and while they seek earthly
things, we seek to
purify our souls by the fire
of the torch and sear
inhumanity from
our hearts
A life of riches and substance
lacks the sustenance of
suffering; love and
lack, to poets, enliven us
through all the pain, and
make us clanless, tribeless,
universally related
Humanity is weak, and divided
amongst itself but our world is
too small in the universe to
have kingdoms and empires,
and poets rail against that
all their lives, joining
hands to build temples
of the soul
They can do to us what they
will, but cannot touch
our truth nor kill our
spirits because our souls
believe in the power
of knowledge over
ignorance and know that
tomorrow will never leave
a secret in the book
of eternity and what we say
today will be said
and felt tomorrow
by hearts and minds untold