I Want to Share My Poetry
The nightmare in poetry
Your words,
Such eloquent words.
This irresistible beauty, wrapped between the lines on papers.
The restless dribble, that crosses in between our thoughts, right beside these spaces.
Words, yours, mine, ours.
How they roam, how they come to us, like petals and flowers.
With decadence, our words dance like queens and kings in a marble hall, dancing a waltz, with dreamy frawls.
Again, we rhyme with reason, when a word is not yet fixed, the crowds call for treason.
They criticize, for understanding they have none, for moments their opinionated thoughts squeal and chastise.
How becoming are our opponents, scanning through the letters, finding a way to wage war through a mere sentence, a lump sum of supposed 'betters'.
Luminescent words, sprawling from our mouths, flashing tastefully before our vision, being tied gracefully and carefully poured down through symbolic drawings.
Perfectionism streaming through incoherent fantasies, what truly lies beneath my words or yours? A crowd that has been emotionally silenced, to speak and to speak well is all we seek. Our voices to be heard in one way or another, yet written with delightful beauty for even in our speech, do we seek superficiality. If one does not speak with a certain touch of elegance, then to speak has already lost half its worth, even with the words sprawled from ink to paper, to see we must hear, and to hear and listen, we must pertain to what we envision.
On the odd occasion, our words will be disgraced and discarded by those that condemn without vision.
Your words,
Such eloquent words.
This irresistible beauty, wrapped between the lines on papers.
The restless dribble, that crosses in between our thoughts, right beside these spaces.
Words, yours, mine, ours.
How they roam, how they come to us, like petals and flowers.
With decadence, our words dance like queens and kings in a marble hall, dancing a waltz, with dreamy frawls.
Again, we rhyme with reason, when a word is not yet fixed, the crowds call for treason.
They criticize, for understanding they have none, for moments their opinionated thoughts squeal and chastise.
How becoming are our opponents, scanning through the letters, finding a way to wage war through a mere sentence, a lump sum of supposed 'betters'.
Luminescent words, sprawling from our mouths, flashing tastefully before our vision, being tied gracefully and carefully poured down through symbolic drawings.
Perfectionism streaming through incoherent fantasies, what truly lies beneath my words or yours? A crowd that has been emotionally silenced, to speak and to speak well is all we seek. Our voices to be heard in one way or another, yet written with delightful beauty for even in our speech, do we seek superficiality. If one does not speak with a certain touch of elegance, then to speak has already lost half its worth, even with the words sprawled from ink to paper, to see we must hear, and to hear and listen, we must pertain to what we envision.
On the odd occasion, our words will be disgraced and discarded by those that condemn without vision.
31-35, F
