Poets And Politicians - Ii

Politicians peck in public affairs Oft with an eye on personal good, But whatso be they seldom brood; Poets do brood a lot it appears, Science nor art, one tinkers ‘pon his trade, One imagines, a stone is precious jade. A politician attempts what's possible, To head nor heart is he honest, On reasons, rhymes nor does he rest; Poetry, being art of impossible, To a poet, his heart seems the last test, Yet, aimless oft do them both dribble. One sees the world as black or white, Yet, grey is where goes his heaven, Poets go green singing grey's blight, To both still passion's sole reason, One whilst a child is of an aching heart, The ‘ther flaunts truth forever but in part. One, no honest, bought stays not bought, Poets honest are to their heart, And I'd like to feel— to their art, Their heads in heady reasons caught; Rare if a politician's a statesman, A poet a product is of his pen. A poet if loves not, may hate, In politics the self is all, Two standing together is fate That for one changes poll to poll. To him sentiment seldom finds spare room, To voice of heart is what good poets groom. ______________________________________________ Tongue-in-cheek | 03.10.13 |