A Poet Tears Poem by George Samuel

Below duty,
My line have lost all beauty,
Here they come without soul,
Denying the calabash is not a bowl..
And call the basket a water hole.

Where could my line be found,
The metrical movement of events and sound,
The powerful songs profound,
That weakened the mighty till they're down,
To make a nobody like me renown.

At night the passion could not be,
Though I had two lovers chanting in their sleep,
Yet could not my guilty mind get inspired,
Or the beautiful nightingale ignite my fire,
To restore my soul to what the living desires.

Every soul searching and peace,
Drowning down the deepest sea,
Where music does not die,
But appeal sweetness to the ear,
It's speaks for all except a lie.