Echo Poem by Bill Cantrell

Where have all the poets gone?
I pray they have not fallen to shadow
I do call for them
Their vacancy brings me to tears,
as walking through a ghost town,
looking for a poem
I can get lost in

Why does this place,
hold me in its grip?
What can I liken this feeling to?
Look,
one falls out of a dream of vision
Upon awakening, he is granted no quarter,
despite all efforts to return
Such has become as of late

Oh, how my heart would swell
Songbirds would embrace the dawn,
as a choir, praising their creator
Crickets sang passionate love songs
through the thick of the night
Fireworks held us in awe,
inspiring visions
Wordsmiths would split open the earth,
loosing knots in order to reveal a longer rope,
that being meter
In the market place, they gathered,
sharpening their tongues,
thus we were cut by their inspiration
We knew every troll and which bridge,
they lived under,
now even they are gone, at least the majority

There are still a remnant,
I raise my pen in honor to you,
while I continue calling