Much Ado

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Poetry must be nothing, for it must be beautiful
And if beauty is anything, it is nothing at all
A chance of values to stir strained nerves
A calculus we choose of just-proportioned curves

I mean, wait.
It can be abrupt, it can disrupt - it can summon hate
But it must be beautiful in all and every way.

If beauty be not discretion but discretion be a nose
In its small expression you scent where beauty goes
It goes where! Everywhere this the poet sees
It is certainly not fair, the metaphor mind frees

If there is something we love, we make it lovelier
By carrying it above our affections we must aver
It is a practical consideration, about both great and small
Of joy and consternation, of man and woman all;

So even life's small evils - even ideology's own sins
Its dark light then reveals, wearing gilded skins
We find ourselves like Balaam, quite unable just to curse
And even curses can just make the hexing worse;

If some are unredeemable, whether they will be redeemed
Poetry's just unseemable, it must be then unseamed
A flight from beauty does it, for then it cannot bless
And can find those to curse it, and curse it can no less;

For to some it is unthinkable that suffering must yet persist
It is a draught undrinkable, and must soon cease to exist
And poetry they thought, while not excusing their own sins
Must eventually be fought, or real suffering still wins

But silly men have always, always played the fool
Useful in their own ways, but more often just a tool
But to the poet they are colored in the villain's blacks and grays
As sharp as any dullard, they brighten still the days

The days when man's spirit can find a voice to sing
No enemy can come near it, no matter what he bring
And perhaps for just a moment, upon the stage of Earth
He catches in the present, God's chagrin and his mirth.

To post-script
Our advice, is but twice, from those pages ripped
Reformed for your leisure, now my pleasure
Is to keep myself tight-lipped!

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