To Whom Is The Poet Writing?

To whom is the poet writing when phrases start to flow? In the future, then inviting each stranger yet to know? Are words a flight of fantasy, fast rhythms, seldom more? Or pearls of wisdom, when set free, Mankind should praise God for? Can words surprise through lines that flow before each verse has gone? Can words defeat a mortal blow? Grant faith to carry on? Are his words from his treasure chests indwelling heart and mind Thought worth the time that he invests to share with all Mankind? If words get penned or typed at all, his skills are all he brings, And if, from these, a miracle springs forth from ponderings, How could words fix each broken life translated here and there? Except they soothe away each strife, anointing through his prayer? And can the children share his love for rhythms wrapped in rhyme, Or even praise the Lord above for wondrous words sublime? Just like a bold Evangelist, the Saviour calls His friend, That pilgrim poet may persist, unpaid from start to end, And should that poet live alone, too poor to marry well, A thousand poems he could own that could save some from Hell. God's Royal Pardon inviting! To everyone like you. To whom is the poet writing? Saved souls and lost souls, too. Denis Martindale, for the 17th of January 2025.