The Last Poet

The last poet sat alone with pen in hand as he cried
To bring beauty into this world some way is all he really tried
Despite his efforts and daily dreams to make the world seem fair
The last poet realized his efforts got him nowhere

Despite the words and images that flowed each day from his pen
He realized no matter how hard he tried men would still sin against men
Those who robbed and killed and stole and lied were things he saw each day
The poet wrote about it all and cried then threw his pen away

And from his seat in the village square where he once wrote it all
The last poet stood and walked away as he watched all around him fall
The world has changed so much he thought maybe now it is too late
To tell mankind this downward slide does not have to be our fate