he was just a poet

he was just a poet
( March 2008 )

torn between two worlds
the real and the imagined
drinking from the well of madness
in order to find his own sanity

who was he
something even he
could not say

a friend to many
a lover to many more
a problem to be confronted
an ideal to be chased
an idol looked up to
who could not stand
upon the pedestal he was placed

he was so many things
a walking contradiction
even to himself

an angel of the alleyways
friend of the forgotten
a thorn in the side
of an empty society
breaking their rules
accepting their taunts
daring to cross the line

the words that he wrote
those painted pictures
of the questioning soul
seeking answers
to questions not even asked

he spoke of possibilities
if only one would look
within themselves
to believe and to trust
one’s own inner nature

shackled of the rules
of demented status quo
he didn’t break the chains
but picked the locks
resetting the tumblers
of combination

the governments rule
wars are waged
for whatever purpose
decreed
by pretenders to power

he shined a light
into their darkened corners
with his words
he questioned and accused
they could not hide
now being exposed

put into the spotlight
they plotted revenge
to bring the weight
of their laws down
to crush him beneath

harassed at every turn
they focused on his words
brought before their courts
of indecency and obscenity
images of the forgotten ones

something to everybody
except himself
that he could not answer
though he searched
deep within himself

try as they might
they could not break him
though broken he was
through his own devices
quite willingly

they found him alone
in a world he created
at last crossed over to
where he could be himself
beyond definition of others

so who was he
he was you
he was me
he was your neighbor
he was your brother

he was nobody
he was everybody
sinner and saint
and to all . . .
he was just a poet