TO THE LADY WRITERS

Ye, poetess, write on for me!
 And like the waves on open sea
roll that pen cross'd ocean's page
and give me travel as the mage
might wave the hand o'er heart and mind
and take me places I'd ne'er find!

* * *

She braves the heartache and the pain,
relives sad times for the refrain
that fits her poem and poetry
with hopes to set each reader free
 
Then comes the night and endless fright
as night goes on and on
and ne'er she knows the wrong from write
for ne'er comes telling dawn.

So wrong she feels and write she does
beneath eternal stars
that worship dark and night's black stain...
that leaves "forever" scars.

Yet like the ancient mariner,
she's bound to tell the tale.
Bound by fate and sin's dead weight,
caught up in writing's gale.

And so, ye poetess, take heed!
wield thy mighty sword;
ye'd find no wrong in write this night;
ye'd stay the devil's hoard

For chase thy demons in the night,
as they'll devour you
if not by pen and page ye'd write
to save your soul's adieu.

 

She sits to share; she writes for "care"
and braves the mental strain
of finding words that "dressed to nines"
the struggling writer's pain

And lo! upon a pen-swept page
thy golden word appears!
spawned of anguish and of age...
and nurtured by the tears.

So write, ye poetess, of pains
and hearts worn on a sleeve.;
perchance thy words shall ever live;
thy poem shall ne'er to leave!

 

                          --Monty Wheeler