Mind of a Poet
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Mind of a Poet
Why are we driven,
To write verse that is given,
Somehow in our minds,
We always find,
A way to express,
The feelings that are pressed,
Upon us everyday,
In every way?
Some are bad,
And some are sad,
Some are great,
And some are fate.
We look for the meaning,
In the matter of being.
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Re: Mind of a Poet
SPLAT! onto this paper it went
blotches of words filled with the thread of "uncertainty"
Is it ready yet?
Naww
must re-word and paint it "clearer"
I think I have it...ooop! doesn't fit ...
Try again...
what do I wish to say?
I see it...
but these words need to "flow" more:
Amidst this tumbling world of "thoughts"
this pen filled with ink guides me into a journey
only I can "express" to you
Are you ready for ME?
here I come...
with words "dangling" in all its glory:
Grasp the fleece of "love"
and shower me with your breath
comforting me with all your senses
and silkiness
the air is fresh with "newness"
finding pathways to explore
your jungle of "confusion" traps me...
am I prey to your lion?
Empathy blesses those who look for it
are you with me? lost yet?
doodles of syllables "spread" freely over my visions
HELP!
set me free...
release all that is "buried" within me
maybe I can find ME in here somewhere
as I search for YOU
Moonstruck by the colors of your soul
can I honor you as I should?
am I worth reading?
Your "character" seems muddy
let me fix it
Ahhhh!
done!
only in the mind of a Poet...
L.C. Sept. '09
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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source