One view on the passions which animate a poet

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I like to think that it’s not true:

There’s nothing new under the sun.

But even if there is no new

There’s so much old that needs be done.

The words we use to tell the tales

The same old same that we endure,

Expressed in rich and fine details

The poet’s role is quite secure.

No limit to the mix of sounds

Whatever time or culture used

Ideas and words and thoughts abound

Our fears assuaged and hopes abused.

Fears also calmed by love’s sweet gifts

And hopes are freed from power’s lust.

The poet’s anger’s rage is swift,

The poet’s songs of truth ring just.

Though poetry can wound or curse,

As art it also heals and binds.

The poet’s passions well-rehearsed,

Still filling souls and feeding minds.

We tell our truths as conscience seeks

And scribble words that sometimes rhyme

As life rolls on from troughs to peaks,

We chroniclers of lives’ brief time.

By Russell Willis

From: United States

Website: https://REWillisWrites.com

Instagram: russell.willis.1217

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