The Poet - By Mark Manning

we're all the same arse up in the ditch...noblemen,tramps,....even 'poets' :)

The Poet

The poet had so much to give

He babbled while they tied his hands

waxed lyrical of spirit and  muse

When they removed his socks

And placed them in his shoes

He spoke in stanzas

pleaded in quatrains

They laughed

when he cried

He was an artist

‘’Piss artist!

 more like’’ said soldier A

Soldier B smiled  as he dug a shallow grave

poets poetry had now turned to prayer

Stuttering confessions and stammering Lords prayer

His tears were salty passion

He now babbled verses  and sonnets

And looking towards the heavens

He recited more quick quatrains

It didn’t make any difference

As they blew out his

Poetic brains.