Pick Yourself Up Dust Yourself Down

Pick Yourself Up – Dust Yourself Down Is there a glimmer of hope in this convoluted soup Is there a sign that all is not such a cock-a-hoop? I came in here with blind hope and faith And sit here now with a sweet bitter taste A poem I’d read after such a relaxing night Tore at my heart with such fierce might From one of poetry soup’s own “elite” Threw her splintered soul down at our feet Like many she’d felt that alluring pull That, in its time, had made her feel full Had filled her world, her life, her words Now she’s left feeling so absurd Betrayed? Or was it something more? A hint of love, through silken words galore We’ve all seen and heard the literary whore Who builds you up then knocks down your door How many times over these electronic years Have we seen people left in tears By the ruthless cyber predators These cruel emotional interlopers Whose whispers woo and wind and wend Through frail emotions that they transcend Until the soul thief’s goal reaches its end Leaving shattered hearts that’ll never mend But the poet that lingers within us all Lulls damaged minds with an incessant call Cuts through self-doubt and low self esteem Reminds us it’s not all as it seems Instils words to our damaged minds Washes over actions and phrases so unkind And builds us up once again Gives us the courage to pick up our pen No muse, nobody - outside influence Will ever give us such confidence But inside us all that incessant urge Encourages us for our souls to purge So let them out: those emotions raw Throw open wide the windows and doors Burst forth with words from your very core Leave people pleading for more and more So pick yourself up - dust yourself down Do not sit and mope with a morbid frown Unleash the poet, the scribe, the clown Reach for that pen and “go to town”