With every stroke
a million faces bloom;
voiceless until you speak for them,
soulless until you bestow them spirit
to laugh, to fly
to reach the heavens.
A star rests upon your brow,
bedazzling; you wear it easily.
And yet, you judge it right
to be heavy despite its weightlessness,
for responsibility
comes in many guises.
You guide the hands of others,
you bear witness to the fruition of labors
of all creators,
all dreamers.
You beget inspiration,
father of Muses;
the songs of sparrows,
happy summer winds,
and the infant's first cry
are your ultimate gift
and joy to the world.
A contest entry
- The Scribe - One Day Contest by CarolDesjarlais.
525 points, ended April 18, 2007, 10 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
It's a wonderful day to comment!
Comments
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very good
I thought of passing by after such a long silence. This piece u wrote it a day before my 28th birthday, thus why i was interested to look at it. I have been suffering from a writer's block. Gosh nothing to write. Your piece, invited me to call my pen again. I like it. Good day
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Oh my, another powerfu entry in this contest....
We do have to be mindful of how we scribe the world and its weary travelers.... awesome poem.
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