The Poet - Poem by Jan Hauck
Sweat and frown, the poet fights tradition,
The chisel knocks his feelings into shape,
Hammer of the past is still his mission,
Although the same he's trying to escape.
Craft and heart he learned from backward study,
Distilling out of common words his voice,
Sometimes leaving chin and fingers bloody,
To raise himself above the common noise.
Poems, vibrant, bright with strong emotions,
Or stillborn, sadly stiff without a spark,
Draining out his scars for magic potions,
The poet gladly tries to make his mark.
Every time he wins the darkest fight,
One more part of him is brought to light.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You