Aging Poet
Come and see the old poet
Laying in his bed of ashes and dust
His love in ruins
His mentality frozen by restless rust
His hungry heart emptied of it's fertile blood
His souls melodic purpose nearly gone
The mellifluous music now so silent
The end, of a once wonderful and powerful song.
What happened to this poet
With dread you may ask,
The ancient story ofcourse
The evils of age and wear, and so damned many things out there
Working at his heart, fulfilling their wretched task.
When poets speak truth and beauty into this old world
Any breath may be their last
For so many evil spirits will stalk them
With an endless passion to haunt, from the past
The deepest hearts, so oft, become weary and tossed
As all about them seems dreadfully lost
And everything fearful and frustrating and unknown
Becomes thriving weeds where once, long ago
With such ease a radiant, eloquent garden had grown.
Still this old poet wrote
For was his vocation so to do
Even through the battles with doubt
He held on, ever true
Words from his heart
He rended to give
The conundrum being
It cost him his life, to fully live...
So look! Look deep
Here lays the old poet - in state
Having succumbed - like all the living shall
To mankinds unavoidable fate.
May all the aging poets forever
Rest in peace, and ever be blest
For the sempiternal words they lay upon us
- dug with pain from the depths of their souls
Are nothing less than the very best.
(for: Townes Van Zandt)
poem by Smoky Hoss
Added by Poetry Lover
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