And delivers such great sorrow, cheer,

That even lowest beasts may know

A beautiful thing occurred here?

-

His words are written exactly so,

His intonation moves the soul,

He speaks true to any being,

The poetry calms any foe.

-

And can incite, with mere reading,

Such a mighty, moving meaning,

That we must leave ourselves, fleeing

He can write you out of creation,

It would just take a literary chord

To bring to knees a mighty nation.

-

He can write you out of creation,

So be afraid of the power of verse.

He might bring to knees a mighty nation,

But to write a poem would be much worse.

-

So be afraid of the power of verse,

More kings have died because of quill;

But to write a poem is so much worse,

It also delivers the bigger thrill.

-

Many kings have died due to the quill:

It only takes a literary chord.

You know it delivers the bigger thrill,

Though we fear the encroaching night,

Man will never cease to create.

-

We will get caught in unwilling fates,

and in these tortures we delight,

because our future will be great.

-

The waves of hardship don't abate:

Tho' ever caught in any plight,

Man will never cease to create.

-

We will forever walk 'head straight,

Our civilization towards that height,

Our brilliant future will be great.

-

And though our evils may sedate

Passing interest in what we write,

Man will never cease to create.

-

For glorious tomorrow, wait,

And sing the beauty of that sight!

For our brilliant future is great

From the world! That's his muse, his will;

From the girl who sits on a window sill

And the stones, the cities, the pink carnations-

From where does a poet draw inspiration?

From the soldier, ready to kill.

From the stars glowing bleak in winter's chill.

It brings an artist the greatest elation!

From where does a poet draw inspiration?

From a white, empty page to fill,

The feeling one gets, that wonderful thrill!

To answer that question needs all creation--

When the snake first slipped 'round Eve's wrist

When lovers died after their tryst,

When the angels tried to rebel,

When Heav'n first turned into Hell-

We saw, as humans, all before,

The perversion that comes with more,

And the mistakes that lead astray,

Turning into night blessed day,

With words that quickly start a war-

-

It's not the world, but the reader

That our poems truly mirror,

It's life's irony that's clearer

When one closely reads the meter

That reveals us all as cheaters-

For we try to balance and rule,

Make ourselves to be better fools,

We hide in fear and fight the pain,

And at the end, scream "All in vain!