The Poets

we are the word masters,
as we contort and cavort with them,
twist and shape them
we make them sing songs burdened with love
we bring them to the depths of the soul
and wring them dripping with the dew
we carry them from our hearts,
and from our bosoms,
and from our minds
we put them on paper with cadence and rhythm
we plait them for reason and rhyme
we pull every ounce of feeling out of them

and when it is done,
we throw them out to the children to be dragged through their day
we find them worn and wadded in the pockets of their lives
just scraps of what was in the beginning
and we tenderly hold these tattered remnants
for they are the vestiges of what we tried to say

when we have uttered our souls
and you have lived your lives
these are the ashes
sifted through by the next generation

these are the words,
and we,
we are their servants

we are the poets

Ron Simpson, Jr.