Inspired by 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' by John Keats
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The Poet, like a warrior, guards against the erosion of years.
Capturing a moment with sweet rhyme or flowing verse,
A perverse need to imprison Time. The Poet's curse,
To bleed thought and feeling without end or send us
To the madness of mindless nothing.
Unfading and unchanging view sketched in the ink of immortality,
Cheating the finality of death and age.
The thought, the rhyme, like some prehistoric fern caught
Upon an amber page, remains for our understanding.
From our souls we endow
A Precious gift of then
Preserved for the endless now.