A Poet's Lament Poem by jennifer courtnay lord

A Poet's Lament

I am comforted by nothing readily.
Not the spirit, nor the pen.

Are friend to me.
And, the cup of wine I drink, be

With acerbity.
That, cup which makes my head hang

So,
heavily.

And, when, I say, I am a poet
By design

Then, I say,
Accursed, I be!

But, it is this I will save,
Forsaking all other company.

And, for all the compulsion, which,
I abhor in me.

I stand among the ranks
Of the well spoken.

But, the poor
In this eternity.

So, for all that must be said,
Then let it be come from me.

Just say of me,
That, I lend a hand at clarity.































forsaking all other company,

Monday, September 10, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: despair
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