Poetry makes a poet

People, I’m afraid, we write
Trying to show power
We struggle, we rewrite,
Over emotions, raw,
Emotions that gnaw
The insides.

But little do those words know,
We think,
That the ink they made us flow
Alcohol they made us drink
Have made just the papers dark
And wiped off our terrors stark.
We think.

But the victory
Fades too soon,
Lying defeated
In the mid of June,
bleached under the sun
Giving up to poems, defeated
By urges of perfection;
The ink on the paper
Wins at last,
Howling the glory
Of shadows, it has cast.
We are left in lunacy,
An existence, a pretense,
Nothing to be,
Nothing but mere poets.


 

Am I not right? Let me know in the Comments below.

If you enjoyed this post, you will love (CLICK>Happiness and Poetry. I am sure.

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See you next time.

Photo by Patrick Tomasso.

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3 thoughts on “Poetry makes a poet

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