Poets

We are the poets

The scribers in verse,
  

To some we're a blessing 
     

For others a curse.
      

Our life's a mosaic 
     

Of meter and rhyme,

We fall to depression

And rise to sublime. 

Once it was said  
  

We are slaves to a muse, 

Who love us or leave us 

We are here to abuse.

One minute earthbound

Then soar to the stars, 

We either have naught

Or the planet is ours. 

If I should be starving 

In some distant land,

A slum garret in Cairo

Or a squat in the strand
. 

Don't come to bail me

It's painful but then,

If I free fall to hell

It's all grist to my pen.  

Copyright© Alan Gilbert 2011.