A Poetic Pondering

Despise my rhyming, if you must,
and even my conceit,
but never disregard my true panache
few, if any, share my lust
for making sounds repeat,
or my innate intolerance for trash

Where have all the Poets gone?
consider this, I pray,
perhaps to some new plane of virgin thought
a place where no man is a pawn
of those who would betray
the very essence of what life has taught

Skills of grammar, poise, and truth,
that make our verses ring,
like echos in the hearts of lesser men
forever saying words of sooth
that cause their souls to sing
with one brave voice the praises of the pen

Never was it my intent
to crucify the dead,
or cause the living to despise their worth
but merely just to circumvent
the lies our eyes have read
and justify the meaning of their birth

In saying this, I've said it all,
take it as you will,
these words propose no new philosophy
I'll gladly take my curtain call
and leave you thinking still,
of ways to slay this poet that is me

C.  Lon  R.  Bruso