At the top of Everest stands
Each writer of renown,
While lesser mortals use their hands
To tear that mountain down...
But leave it there as tall, as high,
A challenge to each soul,
It teaches us to touch the sky,
Beyond safe self-control...
For what are mountains but the Earth
Forced up by pressures made?
By such as these a writer's worth
Stands openly displayed...
To go beyond the blank white page,
To stretch forth words and rhymes,
Until, at last, the final stage,
That beckons better times...
Have pity on the writeless ones,
Their wisdom fades away...
But writers can share with their sons
Their precious thoughts each day...
And once departed, thoughts endure,
Beyond their mortal frames,
Perchance with fame for evermore
The whole wide world acclaims...
So write for men and women, too,
With children still in mind,
Declaring every point of view
Your little hearts can find...
Yes, write of love and write of hate,
Of war and peace in turn,
Perchance in these you'll reach the state,
You'll teach more than you learn...
But who of us can publish well?
It's partnerships we need,
For every tale we seek to tell,
Ten more may not succeed...
Discouragement? That's bound to grow,
But think and persevere
And set that inner light aglow,
Till shining crystal clear...
If not, alas, I'll pity you,
Alone with words as friends,
In search of something that's brand new,
A quest that never ends...
Your hands are also meant for prayers,
Ask God for His advice,
For loving-kindness He still shares
With writers who are wise...
Denis Martindale, copyright May 2014.
The poem title is based on the Huffington Post article
and other points of interest on the pinterest website
that the poemhunter twitter comments led me to see...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem