To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.
To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel
Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities
Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.
I refuse to give up hope;
This could be a poem world.
Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.
Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,
Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.
Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,
So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.
Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,
That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow
And dream the world right.
Write the world right.
There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.
To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel
Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities
Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.
I refuse to give up hope;
This could be a poem world.
Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.
Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,
Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.
Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,
So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.
Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,
That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow
And dream the world right.
Write the world right.
There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.
