Words be their bricks
and mortar
They won't buy your tricks
Hints be their bread
and butter
They won't buy your drinks
Ringing and binding
in spins and loops
this tribe make your days
of concern
meld with your nights
of worry
And hail your flights:
So you wonder why
you worry...
Until you find the message
in the messy material
or that hurting honey
Then, you ponder why
you worry
Poets!
Them tribe of yore
blending Sage
with Modern Age
Poets!
Strange guage
on Ancient Stage
Damn their ranks.
What can a humble beneficiary of the tribe say! In this business, we are all poetic, if not kindly admitting to be poets. But the Bards owe us, owe self, owe a 'morrow. Must they chant or choke? Who knows what be right!? Not me, I plead. But bet that poets will pound the lanes of our very Planet for aeons. No losing them!
Once they be balanced, and fair, I be game. So may us ALL. And the world has been forgiving. In this era, ICT will make a bigger way for poetry, a better say for poets. Brighter day for ALL.
Oh, may poets still be damned....for they be pain, and pleasure!
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