Loudly splitting his own infinity,
Mouthing deep and complex thoughts,
Oozing feeling, painting concepts,
Bard repels the empty crowd.
Talking of a new reality,
Slicing veils of dreamtime mists,
Prophetic lenses wait for grinding,
Hollow words slash Razor's breath.
Bluster on dramatic Whisper,
Closet Thinker fearing light,
Back again to silent safety,
Stoned Philosopher listens in.
If the poem serves no function,
Or's badly written, poorly read,
Poet ploughs a barren field,
Digging plain old Verbiage.
But, suppose a seed hits fertile ground,
Bursting forth with creative power,
Rhyme and Reason mould the wording,
Reading stimulates the hour.
Now
Philosopher's roused by Poet,
Transformed by his new ideas,
Crystallised
by fresh perspectives,
Excitement
puts Brain back in gear.
But,
once tranquillised by Pills and Booze,
Thinker's
Muse might just be dead,
And
with Dialogue and Brain on off day,
Doctor
needs to fix his head.
Leaden words imploding, ponder,
Calling
Surgeon to be bold,
For
he now needs radical procedures
To transmute basic verse to gold!
Mystery
surrounds the arcane treatment,
Can
a poet's alchemy really morph the soul?
The
jury's still out in the writer's closet
But
their insights may yet astound us all.
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