The Curse of the Poet

THE CURSE OF THE POET

I would know of things like these, what poets must suffer

For all poets do suffer in certain ways, not their own.

For the lone night did not start at dark, but before time

when all infant poets were tender plants benign.

From the cradle to the grave is the poets bitter curse

life is a penned riddle but verse after verse.

The poet can he wish to change the way he is

or shall he be born again and change his pick.

For the devils curse rests on all poets alike,

the true ones at least have the same faults alike.

Be honest, how can madness excape its awkward ways

how can  thoughts resist the part he always plays.

Wars of poets or wars of prophets are wars unknown

the ways of evil or the ways of good, the poets curse alone.

Shall he ever remain himself, excape a life that bores

or shall he need a friend to help his crooked ways mend.

To himself he sees but on his knees, the curse of the poet

For where is the rehab for genius words, genuis lines

then depression will worsen when joys become fine.

And all poets at least have tread some troubled track

been all the way down to hells pit and back

For how many poets live through 32, 

I know-perhaps only a few.

Mythical_Poet