Poets and Paupers

Poets and Paupers

The stars shine in the firmament;
each bearing a name:
Shakespeare, Percy, Frost, Whitman, Poe ...
and the newest, Angelou.
These mystic monarchs of words
inspire, soothe, entertain, and
share visions of worlds
         seen only through their eyes.

Their poetic creations
         on canvas
         or hewn from granite
would be on altars of gold.
Instead, they are engraved
         in the hearts,
         on the souls,
of those who
have shared their written words,
have tasted
         the sweetness
         the bitterness
of their swirling emotions,
have glimpsed the fury of their visions,
have traveled within their realms.

I stare at the page and,
raising my pen,
I trace the ethereal images
of their brightness.
The ink flows and dries
as I seek to find
my own light.

I do not seek,
nor shall a single copper
come to my purse and yet ...
I am rich from the inheritance
they have been bequeathed,
asking only my fidelity
in return.

Long live the monarchs.

An entry for the January round of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" 
Prompt Words: poets, swirling, words, fury, written, flowing, dries, ink
Form: Vers Libre  
Line Limit: None
Line Count: 38