POETS ARE THE BELL RINGERS OF THE SOUL
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets as a rule are high on adventure
Like wondering bards or prophets today.
Embracing hearts and minds with wisdom
Casting through verse their visions at play.
Poets have their dreams and their nightmares
Of love, life, death, faith, and war.
They feel the pain and tragedy of others
Even those they've never met before.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most people cannot deny
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
Their poems are used to convey passion
By composers of both good and evil mood.
Some are hateful others loving
Sharing thoughts to be consumed as food.
They fan the flames of human compassion
With their stories of the failings of man.
Professing to follow a higher power
As they recruit whomever they can.
The wild birds sing and flowers bloom
As clouds form figures in the sky
But only poets will write poems
That shall last long after they die.
God has always had his poets
Who he watches with love from space.
But Satan has his poets too
Who try to lead us from our grace.
Poets are the bell ringers of the soul
As they depict the past, the present and beyond.
They sound their alarm of what lies ahead
As the missteps of man live on.
MY FAVORITE POET
My favorite poet is God above
Who gives Earth its rhythm and rhyme.
Not pied pipers of misguided souls
Who promote distrust, hatred and crime.
Poetry is nature serenading in song
The peaceful roar of the oceans waves.
The wind through the trees and over the hills
And the flowers in the fields by the graves.
The sound of rain as it waters the thirsty
The songs of children at play in the park.
The far off rumble of trains or thunder
As they pass through the night in the dark.
The joy of our babies first words and steps
The passion of life with its heroes and clowns.
The on going struggle to survive our sins
As we proliferate in hamlets and towns.
My favorite poet is our Father of love
Who was first to know us before birth.
His poetry prolongs every thing we love
As His deliverance gives life its worth.
By Tom Zart
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets as a rule are high on adventure
Like wondering bards or prophets today.
Embracing hearts and minds with wisdom
Casting through verse their visions at play.
Poets have their dreams and their nightmares
Of love, life, death, faith, and war.
They feel the pain and tragedy of others
Even those they've never met before.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most people cannot deny
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
Their poems are used to convey passion
By composers of both good and evil mood.
Some are hateful others loving
Sharing thoughts to be consumed as food.
They fan the flames of human compassion
With their stories of the failings of man.
Professing to follow a higher power
As they recruit whomever they can.
The wild birds sing and flowers bloom
As clouds form figures in the sky
But only poets will write poems
That shall last long after they die.
God has always had his poets
Who he watches with love from space.
But Satan has his poets too
Who try to lead us from our grace.
Poets are the bell ringers of the soul
As they depict the past, the present and beyond.
They sound their alarm of what lies ahead
As the missteps of man live on.
MY FAVORITE POET
My favorite poet is God above
Who gives Earth its rhythm and rhyme.
Not pied pipers of misguided souls
Who promote distrust, hatred and crime.
Poetry is nature serenading in song
The peaceful roar of the oceans waves.
The wind through the trees and over the hills
And the flowers in the fields by the graves.
The sound of rain as it waters the thirsty
The songs of children at play in the park.
The far off rumble of trains or thunder
As they pass through the night in the dark.
The joy of our babies first words and steps
The passion of life with its heroes and clowns.
The on going struggle to survive our sins
As we proliferate in hamlets and towns.
My favorite poet is our Father of love
Who was first to know us before birth.
His poetry prolongs every thing we love
As His deliverance gives life its worth.
By Tom Zart
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