People wonder of the meaning of poems,
Vague, enigmatic, defier of prose!
Nathless, they wonder more of the poet
Who captured the beauty of the moment.

The beauty of trees, roses, and of fields,
To love of all a poet meekly yields.
From blood to tears and the passage of years,
Delves the poet, facing all mankind’s fears.

How wise and how brief are his precepts told!
Wisdom and help to the young from the old,
Expressed in the poet’s own special way,
Poetry! The language that poets say.

Come to think of it, life’s like poetry,
It has beat and warmth, rhyme and symmetry,
Though strict in form are life and poems alike,
We can put within what we love and like.

From the Maker’s Hands come the poet’s might,
Power to love and live and fight and write!
I know, what poets love are strange to ye,
A lover I am. I write poetry.

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    For people who love to think.

    Jian Carlo R. Narag, MD


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