Riddles and Rhymes
The life of a poet
Is hard to depict,
Yet sometimes their
Words are quite exquisite.
Sometimes in riddles,
Sometimes in rhymes,
Even through toughest
Or easier times
Many times they write
As if by command,
But at times they cannot
Bring the words to their hand,
The words they decide
When to come out to play
They come and they sit
And at times float away
Until they are lost
And wait for the moment
When open is
The mind of the poet
Life takes its turns
Its twists and its rounds
It ties us in knots
And fully confounds
Until words no longer
Hold their meaning
But written they are
Sometimes later gleaning
Some semblance of truth
Some type of hope
Or message contained
Much broader in scope
But only the reader
Can glean such a thing
The poet has lost
Its true meaning
Then at other times
The poets they see
Just what was meant
In those lines that please
Even the simplest
Can bring the words back
And again share we poets
The words in our sack
Amazing the power
Of words as they say
They heal the wounds
Or cut to the gray
But always they're there
For whatever they're worth
Tis true that we poets
Were poets at birth
The rhymes we were taught
As kids they resound
Teaching us lessons
Some world renowned
Were written by poets
Some such as we
Only later in days
Was learning seen
By the readers, yes those
Who found meanings in words
And chose to share them
Floating like birds
Throughout the world
To distant lands
To farthest reaches
And distant sands
And so it goes
The lives of we poets
The words will mean something
But at times we don’t know it
Til we feel they were lost
And then so are we
And then gone we are
Like the fish in the sea
Kari Shinal
Copyright
July 10, 2008
(I know that it has been quite some time since my last post here at Adland. Things are always shifting around, but we always find our way back to where we belong. Kari)
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