I wrote this poem some months ago, and of all the poems I've written, this one strikes me as my favorite. It was influenced heavily by W.B. Yeats, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner
There once lived a poet
Who looked at life
"What makes this, and what makes that?
He asked himself aside.
"Life and death are both but one
So hearts entwined
But that I would have this life,
Than face death
So the poet thought to travel
Every where around the globe,
And hopefully chance 'pon the answer
To the question yet unposed
And so the poet came on a priest
Who lived in Acràgas
"What ails you?" Did ask the priest,
And took sip from his flask
"Who dreams the dreams of yesteryear
The poet asked and sighed.
"I know men's dreams too well enough,
To know they dreamed and died.
So the poet continued on his search,
Until he saw a house,
And in it sat a midwife
With a midwife's skirt and blouse.
"Birth and rebirth
you have seen,
Perhaps you can answer me,
Why does a baby know how to cry,
But not know how to fear ye?"
At this the midwife gave a laugh,
And cracked a secret smile,
"Your answers do beyond me lie,
But not by measure of mile.
And so the poet carried on,
Trying to find the answer,
But all he found were empty houses,
And streetrats full of cancer.
So he sat down upon the road,
To cry til he was dead,
If not but then a beam of light
Came down upon his head;
And a voice from out the Heaven
as a bell,
"Your questions doth make heaven out
Of things that are but hell
"But I shall you treat answer now,
Of the question which you seek,
For I am Allah
, God of Gods,
King of all who Speak.
"The dreams men dreamed of yesteryear,
Were the same you dream today;
Past and present doth combine,
And in it future lay
"A baby cries when it is born,
Because it has to die,
But it cannot hold its mortal fear,
Against the Fate
's cold Eye.
"The meaning of this life you seek,
Is but to suffer death,
And be with golden Rhadamanthos
At the World's last breath.
"And there you'll see a host assembled,
shall it comprise,
The hero, victor, warrior
Will unfold before your eyes.
"But see you not the priestly men,
They live what life is not,
For you have but one of them,
And those men let it rot
"So answer now shall I make you,
And answer you shall have,
Be happy and dance merrily
And you'll never be sad.
"For he who dances merilly,
Most surely is not sad,
And what is life but happiness?
And so in life be glad
And so the poet went back home,
And spread his joy like waves,
Which all have now crashed on the shore,
And seen their pretty days.
But still in Galway they speak of him,
The poet of the gods
And up in Heaven he is now,
Dancing to the songs.
And so the moral of this story,
I shall lay it to you plain,
If ever you are sad in life,
Know ere happiness comes rain