Let Not The Ink Run Dry

 

 

     I share because I care

And dare to say words

That some find ill at ease,

     But one thing

I’ve found within

The realms of poetry,

We’re all as daring as each,

We all open our minds our

Hearts our soul and speak,

     And yes,

I see we’re all hankering

For change,

     I see many

Who care just as much

As me, and it’s not just

About ranting without

An aim, it’s not about

Claiming a state of fame,

It’s more about the things

That touch us we feel

So compelled to write,

From War to love,

All the emotive subjects

Upon the Earth

Are here for us to dwell,

 

     The experience

Of some

     Makes insignificant

My own life offerings,

Yet we all care

No matter how much

We want our say,

We all care enough

To acknowledge

Each other’s passion,

Life experience –

Our hopes,

Our fears,

And want so much -

For a better world.

 

2.

 

     Is the written word

More powerful than

Swords that seem forever

Out of sheaths?

    Can we instil change

Upon a world

Where War

Never tires its

Tour of duty?

     We try I guess,

But we know

That in honesty

We live as poets

Within a realm

Where Idealism

Is mocked

For its romance,

For realistically

Our fears – that War

Will forever plague this World,

Seem more correct in passing

And in action, for until

Human kind lives

En masse within justice

And peace,

Mutual respect

And love;

War will prevail -

All peoples

Where no-ones

Living freedoms

That still remain

The elusive vision

Of the poet,

 

 

     We see,

We hear

We sense

Touch and feel

Our way as best

We can,

But many a poet,

Many a writer –

Will hide their tears

At this world,

While jeers

Continue to rule,

While sneers

And sad remarks

From idle minds

And shallow hearts

Shout louder

Than any written

Word of peace and there,

     Be the problem;

 

     We are all complicit

In the teachings of this world,

We are all complicit

In making sure our

Brethren and our kin,

Learn battledom before

Brokering themselves -

The diplomat,

     We’re teaching

Ten year olds

To Box on the many

Estates where doctors

And nurses pass off

As unemployed,

Where technicians

Scientists and

The vast array of those

Who can develop

A people struggling

To find hope; die

Before their last exhalation

Of breath.

 

     Many a poet

Sees the problems

But cannot afford

The remedies,

And it’s so frustrating

Watching people

Hating each other,

Because in essence

This is not the way

We should be,

We can be better,

We can give the love

And respect we are missing,

If we only knew,

How to start the ripple,

A ripple to negate

An ever increasing circle

And cycle of violence

That teaches all our

Children to hate!

 

     I was a poet

Who cared enough

But my power was insignificant,

I won’t be the first to

Express concern at this world,

I won’t be the last,

Should one day

The written word

Of concern not make

The medium of expression,

Then our whole world;

     Will be dead.

 

Michael J Waite 30th September 2014.