by Michael Plante

A poet walks into the darkness
harvesting their thoughts
toiling in the mind’s recluse
a labor of love reduced to words.
We spit on the consumer’s market
a $1.99 a pound;
for the poorer a poet the greater their work.

Planted seeds of youth prevail
hardship and adversities enrich the soil
tend to the rows gently yet firmly
until daylight destroys the harvest.

A poet walks in darkness
mindful of strides taken
culpable is the world
marshals of conscience are we.
We spit the seeds of morals into print
standards long forgotten by vises of the body
we uphold the fabric of a new cloth
and burn the old flag of corruption to the ground.

Tears of society feed our crops
brings to life a poet’s work;
unmolested minds of youth await
the poet’s return from the darkness
bearing fruition’s fruit
and empty pockets.

All compositions that appear on The Poet’s House are composed by Michael Plante and are subject to copyright.

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