The Young Poet

The devil of time,
was bored out of his mind
and went to the desert to fish.
He cast out his line
in the river of rhyme
unknowingly – seeking a dish

I’ll eat well tonight,
he thought by the light,
of a sky, that was blacker than ink.
He reeled in a poet,
though he didn’t know it,
this strange creature, caused him to blink.

‘Well, what have we here’,
he said, wiping a tear,
for honesty, fair blurred his view.
‘I’m a poet’ replied
the young wordsmith and sighed,
for he felt in his heart, it was true.

The devil just sneered,
as his demons appeared,
among them, Unfeeling and Hate
Despondency showed
and his eyes fairly glowed,
as he bowed, to the devil’s son; Fate.

The devil, he shivered,
his loins all aquiver,
envisaging rare sport indeed.
A poet, no less;
member of the noblesse,
and rumoured, a soul, of rare breed!

The poet sat waiting,
observing, collating,
as metaphors, ran through his mind.
He felt little fear,
Though the strange atmosphere,
Was something, as yet, undefined.

Despondency spoke,
and his mind-numbing cloak,
caused the poet to cover his eyes.
The demons all grinned
but their smiles did rescind,
when the poet thanked him for the prize.

Hate, stepped up next
but was quickly perplexed;
when the poet, just opened his heart.
And gathering all,
That was sent, for to thrall
Said he’d store it away, for his art.

Unfeeling attacked
But was soon driven back,
By that laughter, the poet displayed;
who shaking his head,
Said, ‘until I am dead,
How could you even hope to pervade.’

Fate strode to the fore
and quoting from lore,
said, Your future, I hold in my hand!
Said the poet; feel free,
let what will be, be;
I will go, where the tide, brings my sand.

The devil of time
Watched his grapes, turn to wine,
And he found it, much sweeter than wrath.
‘Go back poet now
And this, I avow;
I will no longer stand in your path!’

Now I do not claim,
That the poet, here ‘named’,
shares my heart, or my soul, or my pen.
But I hope, as I travel,
the demons unravel…
and I find the young poet again.