Happy Poet
Show me a happy poet; I will say you lie;
It’s not an oxymoron, but few such under the sky!
For a poet writes of the sadness in his heart,
Of the lost Eden, that he ne’er wants to be a part!
He writes of the pain, the hurt and the emptiness
And the void he longs to fill with happiness!
Of his soul’s isolation and the permanent sorrow
He hopes will disappear with the coming of morrow
Yes! He writes of a beautiful world, a world to be;
Living in an imperfect universe, pining to be free
And the romantic tale, that he penned today
Is not his own! Alas! It’s fiction all the way!
What he puts down on paper, are just his dreams,
His fervent hopes; and fantasies to the extremes!
Yet he’s ever wishful, always hoping for the best
In this world, in this life, and even in the next!
Yes, show me a happy poet; I wish there’s one
A special one he’d be, when all’s said and done!
04-05-2016
© Vic Evora
The picture above is a landscape painting of the Riviera by the French painter Boudin.
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