For many centuries, the written word
has sought to show men's lives in meaning's light,
while uphill fighting forces, both absurd
and murderous. The scrawlers, forged the right
for scholarship to rise from any clay,
that all may know life's fierce creative fire.
This heritage, no true poet would betray.
Men's souls must see themselves both son and sire.
But much of modern rhyme is listless fluff,
that's trivial and void of questing thought.
Comprised of piddling cryptic seedless stuff,
it's comatose, at best ironic rot.
Remember man, mind's lightning moves your pen,
And you, like God, compose the minds of men.