Though oftentimes, words sooth and comfort us,
I have, of late, found this is in reverse:
How can we love or even start to trust
A verse that leaves us lighter in the purse?
Each line that's bled costs half a bottle more,
And sonnets tease and wile away my nights;
What ghastly words would force us to adore
The perfect view without a shaft of light?
Unquenchable is ev'ry poet's thirst -
A sacrificial lamb upon the stone;
With pens that scribble magic as a curse
And words that cut the writer to the bone.
Do not expect to weave a goodly spell
Without the water leaking from the well.
Magnificent Ben! Do not expect to weave a goodly spell
Without the water leaking from the well. How true, words can kill or spare, make rich or poor. The issues of the world are packed into your poem and, as, said a great painstaking task upon the writer. Out of the mouth come the issues of life and death, recorded by pen and ink. Added to my Favorites, glad it was Nominated.