0039 Well, Chop My Prose! Poem by Michael Shepherd

…for that’s the way that poetry goes…
and goes…mere pose, tapped out as prose…

Yes, most of us, these days, undisciplined,
approach the temple of pure poetry,
when some thought stirs in deepest heart and mind, ,
with all the earthy tread of careful prose…

yet with a certain hope, a faith, a love,
a purity of heart – that if we tread -
unmetered and unrhymed petitioners -
as pilgrims, sackclothed, ashen from the urn
of some poetic crematorium;

that, as we stumble on the heart’s true path,
the Muse, with long and patient, weary sigh,
- the music of the ages in her ears -
will catch up with our steps along the road
and guide us to that sacred, lovely place
where, with a gasp – our verses dropt from hand –
we’ll be where goodness, truth and beauty dance
and sing and laugh and love – now three; now one.



(thanks, WD)