Verses - The Poetry Porthole

WHY, POETRY?

It’s the essence of letters, creams of lines,
nectar of vision, dream of many.
it can make one weep or smile
or unsheathe his quill out of sheer wonder;
for pen is mightier than any sword.

In solitude ideas are conceived,
not for self, but the rest;
evolution has nurtured language in thee,
to preserve thy muses for eternity.

One delivers poetry in ink,
venting emotions in throbs of throes;
so it be shared by his mates
lest they don’t learn from his fate.

Create your style,
make it simple;
for Pete’s delight.
Come on pretender,
fire your extra cylinder!
show them your mettle,
in black and white.

Thru rhymes, feet, metaphor et al,
serenade thy talents,
in vivid stanzas.

Clothe them in veil,
as a luscious maiden wud;
cap it with theme,
as tiara on her, shud.
Ha! Jargon in verse,
wud be cyanide to thee.
Of forms, let fools fight,
yours’s to pen thy poetic plight.
Most of all, let it,
let one, ponder.

Blind excelled, God’s “light denied?”;
just was done, ‘pound of flesh sans blood’.

Endeavour this be, thine finest best,
for effort’s half the battle at wrest.

Who knows? Cud be; Laureate! You!?