The Different Drive Of The Poet - Poem by Denis Martindale
The different drive of the poet
Compels his hand to stir
And with that hand to sow it,
Cast wide as if a blur...
And if good seed, to strengthen,
Like wheat within a field,
Its roots to daily lengthen,
Until the final yield...
Once brought about, it glistens,
As if like falling snow,
Until somebody listens
To all that they must know...
Behold what prompts the poet's heart,
He sees the future well,
That's why he must sit down to start
The tale he wants to tell...
And with a prayer, or two, or three,
That first verse scans the page,
What follows proves a mystery
At every single stage...
The poet strives to gain control
Of words and phrases penned,
He searches in his heart and soul,
On that you can depend...
And suddenly, his art takes form,
Each time God leads the way,
Perhaps that's why his heart feels warm
Before the end of day...
And if that poet pleases you,
Remember him in prayer,
For he remembers readers who
Respond because they care...
Live long and prosper, young and old,
Great poets, take your rest,
Because your words were good as gold,
Anointed and God-blessed...
Denis Martindale, copyright January 2016.
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