How Great The Loss

by Frenchy 3 Replies latest social entertainment

  • Frenchy

    I had not visited this place for a while. I was very happy to see that others had not deserted it as I had. I think that one of the reasons for belief in God is poetry. Another is music. For where else can we lose ourselves so completely? By what other means can our hearts soar in such a fashion? For like the musician, the poet steps carefully around reason and draws out from the heart that which makes us human.

    The poem we read, however, is not the poem of the poet's heart. That is his alone as what will form in our hearts shall be ours alone. We can only see the words and those words must work their magic in our minds and hearts and draw upon our experiences and our inclinations. In each of us lies a different world of dreams and nightmares, of unrequited hopes and schemes which lie around in our minds like so many discarded, unfinished garments. The words of the poet gathers these remnants of our lives, of what has been and what could have been and fashions things for us that for whatever reasons could not have been. His words form the pattern and we use our fabric to weave our garment. And we fashion our garments with the remnants of our life until it fits who we truly are.

    The struggle to put into words what the heart fabricates is a never ending struggle for the poet. Regardless of his adeptness with words, in the end the resulting ink stains are a far cry from what inspired their creation. There is so much lost in the process. That's what this poem is about.

    How Great The Loss

    How great the loss from poet's heart to pen in hand
    Flashes of light, schemes and plots so grand
    Begin their arduous journey down that long long road
    Along the way valleys of doubt and stones of reality take their toll
    And in the end, epiphanes and empyrean dreams sublime
    Twist and turn , bend and toil beneath reason's eye
    To become in the end words on paper common and bland
    How great the loss from poet's heart to pen in hand!
    For what words can bind or hold rages of the heart
    Or chronicle a life void of meaning from finish back to start
    Hopes and schemes , visions and dreams, troubles and strife
    Are woven into the fabric that in the end is our meager life
    That brief candle of which the fabled Englishman did write
    Flickers in the winds of adversity, with no chance in its meager fight
    To stave off the relentless darkness that comes upon all man
    How great the loss from poet's heart to pen in hand

    The French Knight.

    -Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it-

  • Seven

    Great poem Frenchy-as usual. I used to be able to "lose myself completely" in my art, but not as of late. The inspiration is gone and it has unfortunately become just another job. I'm happy to see that the French Knight has not lost his edge.Seven

  • AhHah


    I love it! I can totally relate. I also love the way this poem sounds. Kind of like the reassuring sounds of a small stream as it flows past in a quiet forest.

  • Frenchy

    Thank you both for those kind words.

    I don't think you've lost your inspiration, perhaps there's just something on top of it now, hiding it. You just need something to help you clear away the excess baggage.

    -Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it-

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