Those known as prophets far and wide
Named poets in the Hebrew tongue
By songs denounced the Powers’ pride
By sign pronounced a Kingdom Come
They lived among the ragged poor
Their bellies empty, sandals torn
Forsook, forgotten, long forlorn
Those mourned the bright days they were born
By priesthoods branded heretics
With burning coals set to their lips
Their bodies laid in furnaces
To bake beside the Temple’s bricks
The rulers, fearing rabbles riled
Those poets brutalized, exiled
And murdered every first-born child
Along the sea, their bodies piled
The prostitutes and drunkards there
Saw in the blind mad poets’ stare
A righteous anger fierce with care
A kingdom free, and far, and fair
Never then, and rarely now
Will poets win this world’s renown
Labeled lunatics and clowns
Unlike the gods beloved of crowds
But in the world to come we might
Find ahead of Kings and Knights
Among those known on Earth in spite
The artist-Saints, the first to fight

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Robert L. Martin
10 meses

At least there's a light at the end of the tunnel for us poets.


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