The Poets' Current

In night’s wondering days
Or in daylight’s brightest rays
The fluttering pen
Could not be shunned

In spring's gracious yield,
Or in an army battlefield,
The empowering voice 
Could not be hushed

In a dissolute world,
Or while the sail is furled,
The guiding compass
Could not be shattered

In flowing rivers
Or how the soldier shivers,

The poet's ink
The author's feather,
Never dropped in 
Significance

I would hate to cease
The current of words
Yet the only way to conduct it
Is to channel me

How clever,
This paradox.
The fluttering pen
The empowering voice,
The guiding compass,

They are not mine
It is the poets' current
That creates these miracles
For us to share.