A Poets Musings Poem by Heath Gunn

We are the worlds poets,
In that we are unique.
Our view on life unboundaried,
By stringently held beliefs.

We pick apart the musings,
Of older, wiser men.
Consider our conclusions,
Of mysteries way back when.
Life seemed so much simpler,
A slower, easier pace.
When fellow man was not so rushed,
Not hooked in the rat-race.
No sitting under apple trees,
Nor walking behind ploughs.
No gazing over foreign fields,
Filled with snoozing cows.

They hurtle to appointments,
To meetings, scheduled in.
The emphasis on end results,
On the ingrained need to win.
Mass acceleration,
And all must run toward.
A death from stress-fuelled heart attack,
Our modern culling sword.

But poets take the time to stop,
To consider and to muse.
The world in which we find ourselves,
And other peoples shoes.

Heath Gunn 2009