A pupil plea for poetry

There must be something good to be done
There must be a good race to be run
For this lesson the teacher’s been giving
Knows nothing of all the graces within.

This doesn’t have to be taut, nor deadpan
It doesn’t even have to rhyme, though it can
It just needs to be beautiful somehow
So let us arise, no longer to bow.

We don’t have to put on airs, nor face
Our words need not be timed, nor encased
They simply flow between your heart and mine
Thus let them be shared, without underline.

Don’t think of me as one you’re to save
Don’t think of how your ‘duty enslaves’
For I want to perform some beautiful good thing
Feeling with good heart the poor freeman sing.

Reason is too cosy in the bed
Is able to see itself bleed red
And says this, still leaving all else unsaid,
‘Just explicate what it is to be dead’.

Beauty, princely kissed, wakes from her grave
‘Resurrect Love! Come out from your cave!’
The Truth lies behind her smile, tear and stare -
With words encapsulate what is not there.

We do not have to rant, nor to rave
Our words need not be mimed, nor engraved
They thrill the air with sweet simple rejoice
So long as we’re spared, and in healthy voice.

This doesn’t have to be bought, nor panned
It doesn’t have to keep time, though it can
We just need to show our beauty somehow
Starting from the blocks, let’s always allow

There must be a good race to be run
There must be something beautiful done
For this message the preacher’s been spinning
Loves nothing of me, only of winning