I have said and heard it said that Poets are the Prophets of their generation. They impress upon the soul the significant truths it should know, and often does know without knowing. They hold up a banner and claim truth for it, rallying the masses after them. They implore the readers and hearers to think, to feel, to move. They tell us what is. This has been the unofficial yet steadfast tradition of the poet since the dawn of poetry.
But poetry is dead to our generation as it cries “long live the pop-culture!” The prophets of this generation are the rappers and singer-song writers, and mainly the business-minded entertainment industry who peddle an emaciated wraith that once was poetry to the masses, adorning it with beats and catchy hooks that say nothing at all. The true soul of the true poet lives leanly within a few beating hearts that feel the cry of thousands and the questions of millions within their own chests. The ones who sing about the heart-breaking and soul-reviving things must vie against the ones surf on the waves of vacant praise.
But the poets have not died. Some have lost their voices. Some have sold their souls. Some have silenced the prophet’s cry within themselves because his cry rends their souls trying to get out. Some are afraid to feel the pain of poesy. Of prophecy. Let them speak now. A generation without poets, without prophets, is a generation whose compass is broken. A generation that doesn’t heed their prophets is a generation of walking dead men. Because poets question and philosophize. Poets probe and rage and point the soul to the glaring truths we fear to hear but need to know. Poets wake the souls of men, reminding them that they are men and they are far more real than the world around them seems to think.
It is time to rouse a generation. It is time to revive the poets. It is time to wake the prophets.