"This is Their Sign; Silent Waters and Deep Minds." Redux

I could sit down and Create
repetitious Stanzas all day,
every day
That sounds good but Lacks
meaning

And write-up line after line
that rhymes so that it sounds
cool because it Flows but
have no Deeper-meaning to show

But I know that the Glory goes
to the teller of Stories who
Knows lifes hidden Wisdom and
its Precious Gems
Even the parts that have a
Distasteful Flavor
And is able to Reveal them unto
all with Passion, with pen on
paper

These be the Scribes who from
the Fine Art of Writing cannot
be stopped

They Whom if even both their
arms did fall off and rot
Would then find another Medium
whereby to hold pen and ink
so that they could etch-out
their Souls on paper

Who search-out life, layer by
layer
And Who are not Sufficed until
they Decipher its Relativities
and Mysterious Sayings
The Scrupulous to them is Menial
Meanderings
And Shallow-thinking is unto them...

"Intellectual-Slander,"

And if I might persist in my
Ramblings and for a while longer
linger, then I would like to say
that the True Poets, (Like all
here on DUP), Brood Deeply,
Maticulously and Obsessively on
all things

Not Superficiously but with Mental-
clarity
Like as though we're Hard-wired to
the Universe and it's Revealing
unto us its Eternal, Unfathomable
Answers

This do we all Easily, like Breathing

The Poets, the Scribes
The Beautiful people with a wild-eyed
wonder for life

The Shamans, the Magi's who Write-out
Stanzas and Poetry like Amazing
Lyrical Lullabies that make us all
sigh
And the Whimsically Wordy Wizards
that when we Read make our Natural
Senses Tingle

To these all I say, "Keep on Writing,
with the Stars in your Eyes and the
Universe in your Souls,"