The Poet who Wished to be King.

I’m no longer happy being a poet,
The poet who makes the culture for the king,
The one who sees the resonant points,
The truth, like bells that ring,
For when it’s here, the vision,
The scope of all that’s scene,
The rooted nature’s reaching out,
That grips you to convene,
You bask in the glorious chiming,
The timing of rhyme well placed,
You tempt and tease and tesselate,
Each meaning to a grander fate,
The slate once blank, once coarse dry canvas,
Now abounds with the elixir of life,
Of depth and meaning,
Of test and triumph,
It’s tantalizing, tasty, and ripe,

I’m no longer happy being a poet,
For more poets should strive to be king,
For who else among all human beings,
Bring with them the vitality of spring?

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