The art of the word yields little fruit when it's first conceived; <br />It must take root and grow in passionate minds if ever to be received. <br />A craft much learned of sadness from this world we’re in, <br />As we suffer right along until our solemn end. <br /> <br />Heroes of a future day but rarely of our own. <br />Most to be remembered only by ink and bone. <br />Our souls fulfilled when our words echo from the page. <br />And so we are merely losers until another Age. <br /> <br /> <br />~Arelo<br /><br />R.L. Ohlhausen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poets-are-losers/
