About the Poem

This is simply a response to my lifelong love of Poetry and to those who wrote it best.

The Poets

by Belisle

Why do young modern poets
Play with my ever fragile mind;
For is it not until you die,
That I should read your latest rhyme?

And why do you place in question
All that I at present believe?
If not to lead me yet further
Into doubt and uncertainty?

I, like so many before me,
Am never to decode your lines,
For anonymity is yours:
In ink and paper you do hide!

Often I think of those great men
Who in ancient times gave such grace
To this practice we now despise,
And in earnest try to erase.

But all who think would surely know
That unlike the monuments of time,
The poet's words are strangely sent;
They immortalize and never die!

So this final tribute is made
To all the Great Ones of our past;
In so doing is homage paid,
To all rhymes from first to last.

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