Poet's Prayer

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As much as I enjoy this writing,
In books with lines, with pens,
I find it slightly disappointing
That words are where it ends.

There's a part of me that lies,
In wait, for days so sweet,
When verse and meter organize
Their following in the streets,

When majorities spend energy
On art and search for truth,
Republics follow Plato's creed,
And poets' lives are smooth.

Only then will longing fade,
Art's expression satisfied:
Heeding words which Rousseau said,
Our world would be made wise.
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