The Politics Of Poetry

Poetry emerges from the pages of history Dripping with ink that fill the pages of time The uncertain future captured by the lone poet Who sat on the stool of time and saw a bleak future Wanting to escape back into his inhospitable dream He dreaded the path of uncertainty that stood before him and his dream The reality of his political course swallowed by his fear He sat down and choked on a piece of his heart Stumbling across a few words, he expressed his mind On the stage of time, there are no spectators All players are playing to win And at the end of it all, the players are lost to the elements of time Degenerating into a mound of dirt That hides the hideous scars on their faces Their life stories gone Captured by their fleeing memories The game of life is painted on mysterious clouds That hangs on the heads of poets Who dare opens the mystic book of poetry