for poets

for poets

tonight i speak of words,
the cold hard truths that poets paint
with sweet pictures of pine and petunia

this is my heartless howl,
my clarion call, my crazed cry
for an end to every despair

O poets, stop your mewling
for a better world, this one
is quite good enough

This sky dares dreamers
to find more blue

This sea declares eternities
soft and deliberate

This earth leaps up to weary feet
and offers such gravity

O Poets, find true voices
amongst the tiny lies
of peace without war

This blood dries and scabs
and these wounds heal

This  bone shards and fossilizes
into distant memory

This flesh is consumed
by touch, by faith
by love.

O poets, run away you are nothing.
let man scour the stars
for life.

let man stomp out the rhythm
you feign with empty thoughts

let man speak the images
you pretend to see

let man be the artist
of small victories,

of large clanging bells,
of proud death
of monuments to clouds
of erected phallusies to wide for the womb of the world
to bear the children of his thoughts.

O poet,  set aside your rage
your song, your pity and
your scorn

you are not big enough for words