Fellow Heirs

 
Children of God, fellow heirs, dare I say, "Poets"                   
For the common good,                    
Who unlike lawyers that use                 
'weasel words'                    
As do illegitimate children                
Claiming to be rightful heirs to           
The throne.                    
Poets manipulate language              
The way potters change the shape          
And form of clay.                    
Thus, changing its name from "clay"         
To the new thing he has made it into,     
The thing which he himself has created.    
Poets do the same twisting meanings        
And turning phrases, using a hint of       
Double entendre with a pinch of  
Onomatopoeia and a dash of       
Alliteration.                    
Painting pictures with words,             
Speaking the truth when no one            
Wants to hear the truth.                    
Poets like Saul plowing his father's field    
Hesitate to ascend and once coronated    
Return to farming not having full          
Understanding of their role in society.     
Though neither a prophet nor the son          
Of a prophet, poets are the proclaimers of Truth.  
For they have studied the  
Psalms and sang the songs of Solomon.          
They know what it is to love              
And what it means to be one
With another person.                    
They prefer experience over theory,         
So when they speak of love                    
Their words are sweet like the taste         
Of honey in your mouth.                    
Their poetry shines radiant like the sun.    
Thus, without the words of the poets     
Our true identity becomes hidden        
And somewhat lost and life                    
Becomes disconnected.                    
Without the poet's perspective it is         
Difficult to relate to one another in         
Truly meaningful ways.                    
We only see the veneer, the illusion,       
Never the real person, only the surface,    
Not the heart and not the soul.           
Poets have been ordained to spread       
The gospel of love and the beauty     
Of this present world along with            
The tragedy of man and the way            
In which he can be redeemed.            
What shall we say then?                    
It is not the goal therefore of poets         
To be worshiped,                    
But rather to speak the truth in ways     
That gain more admirers than detractors.  
For whether God or man,     
One will always have detractors.            
Thus every poet should desire           
An unlisted name and number,           
But want their poems to be                    
The fountain at the center                    
Of the city park.                    
Alas dear poet,                      
It is never about you,                    
It is always about the poetry.             
The crown must always outlast           
The head.