‘ere Sleep, The Poet Poem by Andrew Benton

‘Ere sleep, the poet consumes the man
and takes as his captive, sacred trust,
of mind’s connection with long leaden hands—
and fevered minds consumed with lust—
for earthly gain ‘ere sleep constrains
the light by which men fall to dust.

In robes of more than moral grace,
to sing of ages long ago,
and lift all nations in warm embrace;
the poet is ordained to throw
on high, motives of sinners slain
so scholars, paupers, kings may grow.

The beauty of the poet’s work
‘ere night’s death knoll begins to ring
is found within, between his words—
the soul, if verse were but a being—
it beats aloud the sordid song
which zealots lack the heart to sing.

As men and beasts bow down to dark,
worship kings of carnal past,
every inch a muse, he stands
to make firm qualities which last—
and not the words, but power within,
is strength from which his sway is cast.

The poet’s love is love which lasts.