The Poet

The poet has to dig deeper,

Find a way to the essence.

What essence? The essence of life.

The essence that’s driving it all.

The essence beneath it all.

The beyond the beyond.

The beyond of it all.

To point to the beyond

For the benefit of all.

To unearth that which is hidden.

Hidden underneath the myriad forms

That this universe projects.

“How magnificent is this pearl!”

“How fabulous was the play!”

“How marvelous is this dish!”

“How excellent is that design!”

The poet points to the essence beneath.

Even to the essence of a simple fly

That scrounges to find its daily meal.

The essence that should be our only zeal.

It’s the poet’s alone, not everyone’s too?

Builders are needed, and cooks and so on.

Not all can spend time in the unknown

Finding out about the great beyond,

Or the world would simply collapse.

The wheels have to keep turning.

The world needs to keep spinning.

The sun needs to keep shining,

So Life keeps on living,

Still, the poet keeps on digging,

Looking for the pure golden essence beneath.