Colin F. Jones


Veiled wistfully by his despair
The wounded poet rests
For few do venture into there
Where his pensive crisis crests

Who sees him from their inward eye
Would see him not at all
For they would laugh where he would cry
Nor hear his plaintive call

Where does this prophet of a muse,
Which seeks to banish war,
Share the thoughts they all refuse
Lest they their own deplore?

One cannot share a thing declined
Nor to a deaf man speak
Nor pacify a man inclined
An argument to seek

Why suffer this, this inner pain?
Why suffer it indeed?
To live untold; a poets shame
These thoughts that must be freed