St. Brigid's Disciples Poem by harry hayes

There are a myriad of reasons,
Why we 'poets' take up the pen;
To put the world behind us,
Or inspiration now and then.

A path not set by others,
Thoughts very much your own
Sometimes a sense of darkness,
Or seeds of beauty sown.

The last is all around us,
To see it is by choice;
A heaven unfolds before you,
Words simply add the voice.

Some poets write of nature,
Others, people they have known
Events which were laced in humour,
Or something special, all their own.

Nostalgia gives an inner glow,
Loving times perhaps recall;
Within, a spark of child-hood,
'Catch me should I fall'.

Vanity, the family bible,
What kind of man was he?
Guidlines to our deepest thoughts,
Therein for kin to see.

More often we write for pleasure,
No loss or gain is sought;
Escaping from the humdrum.
To float on clouds of thought.

Kissed by the Goddess of poetry,
She takes us by the hand;
together, fleeting moments,
In a serene, more peaceful land.