by Tom Mcmurray

Created on: February 19, 2010

Like beauty born in spring
are men of mystic kind;
the songs these poet's sing
create a Celtic mind.

A poet's book, to start,
across my naked chest;
I feel the poet's heart
beat warm upon my breast.

A pause to slumber slight
as slumber fights to slide
deep into dreamscape sight
where dark greets light inside.

My dreams lead through the trees
where firm tall poplars stand;

unselfish in the breeze,
the birch and fir trees grand.

The mellow breezes sweet
now whisper through the trees
as in my dream I greet
the bob-tail fawn that flees.

The sun-light particles
explode above in flight,
poetic doggerels
split through the prism light.

I once again begin
to read the poet's truth!
So joyous it has been,
it reawakens youth.

How proud the poet pleas
to free man's idol-fires
from pompous vanities
and lust for vast empires.

Seek nature's bounty spread,
uncluttered on the ground;
have faith to forge ahead
for riches to be found.

The glory of the good
is glory in the song;
the poet understood
will write to right the wrong.

Man's soul conceived in art,
created in his mind,
is tendered by the heart,
to virtue it will bind.

The fight for liberty
will face the gates of hell
with righteous dignity;
where pure the poets dwell.

The paradox of pride,
when false and filled with fears,
continues to collide
with shattered lives in tears.

Confront false hurt within,
solidify the soul,
ride gently on the wind
O poet; become whole.

Though sorrow seeks no man
let shattered souls beware;
perfection of God's plan
brings light inside to bear.

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