A Writer's Role - Poem by C.J. Heck
This truly is the mark of greatness,
but have all the noble poems
been written by classical masters
and the gifted poets of today?
Are there meaningful works
still left to pen,
not merely big words
from our swollen egos
spilling their contents
at the whim of a moment,
nor with the simplistic meanderings
of joy, or grief or love?
To answer my own question,
I say write on, dear poets.
Allow not your words
to decay unwritten
in the brilliant minds of today
where they’ll lie barren and unread
only to wither and crack and parch
as clay in the desert.
I do believe there are jewels
left to be written.
But if we must write,
it should be for the future,
for the common man
who will gain most from
these words he cannot write.
We have an obligation
to write in a way
that he may glean what he can
from writings of poetic merit,
not stumble through
obscure words which are,
to him, as bird droppings
on a splintered windowsill,
left to die in obscurity
gathering nothing but dust.
If we must write,
let us write for those who are unable,
so the future might find our words
alive and fertile, their tilled soil
begun as thoughts and feelings
first seeded in keen minds,
then sown into black and white,
rich and green and lush,
to live on in future hearts and minds
even as we crumble, ashes to ashes,
and blow away, dust to dust.
May we always write
not to say what we can all say,
but what we are unable to say
- not for the now, but for forever.
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