O, friend poet ,
Is what we write our unswerving psalm,
that which we espouse at the drop of a glove?
Do we seek collaborators in our ideas?
Do we massage/message others to come our way?
O, friend poet,
If we believe ersatz thoughts are true thoughts,
If we champion impulses built on sand,
If we run the course backwards, downhill,
do we lacerate our spirits, our poetic souls?
O, friend poet,
Is freedom so fragile in our universe,
so swaddled, so cloaked in self, self alone?
Should flamboyant poetic passions flout the freedom
of collective action for the common good?
O, friend poet,
Do you steadfastly suppose our liberty is lost?
I see liberty as freedom to survive the virus,
freedom to unite with the caregivers,
freedom in mutual endurance, in cooperative healing.
And finally, friend poet,
I believe “writers inform and shape life,” [1]ever seeking
the means to fashion the way forward.
Though we, you and I, dispute the means, the might,
I accept the melancholy and remain resolute.
- E.B WhiteBill Englesonwww.engleson.ca ↑
