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MUST LOVE POETRY
And I don't mean the written kind
I mean the kind that is felt

It doesn't matter if you can express it,
You don't have to write it
Sing it
Or
Preform it-
You have to believe it.

The beauty of a sunset
The art between character and voice
The beauty of two things mismatching

You have to wonder about the world
And travel to places you'll never go

You have to wear masks of different faces
Find beauty in love that heaven replaces
Put treasure where voids leave empty spaces.

MUST LOVE POETRY

The kind that lasts longer than a read through
The kind that you feel as the wind breathes you
The poetry that finds light  in all the dark alleys
The kind that doesn't give up when in a hopeless valley

It's the kind of poetry that's lived
The kind that sees more than seven colors in a rainbow
Hangs on to love
but isn't afraid to let go
It's the kind  that doesn't always make sense...
Past
Present
Or future tense-

MUST LIVE POETRY.
Simple questions deserve simple answers.
For that is the way life runs,
The simpleness of a subject is complemented by something much more simpler.
So why is it, 
When this question surfaces in the minds of every writer,
There is nothing simple to it.

The reason for writing is as simple as it can be.
It is like painting on a canvas board,
For every stroke of the paintbrush is a stroke of words
Painting vivid images in the minds of every boy and girl.
We as writers are giving life to the lifeless lines of paper.
For even when it's blank,
There is still an image painted through words.

The greatest invention mankind could ever think of is words.
For without them, 
Nothing could ever exist.
Without the simpleness of screaming out how blue the sky is 
Or how soft those clouds look,
Or even how beautiful a starry night sky can be,
How can we
Ever appreciate the beauty writers create on canvas boards.
For every written word on a blank sheet of paper,
Is a stroke of paint,
Creating magnificence inside a dull mind

My good sir,
When asking a writer their reason for writing should be as simple as this
But
If its too complex for your mind to comprehend,
Then, let me simplify it further.
When you ask an artist their reason for creating art,
You are merely asking their reason for existing
Asking why they are  deluding themselves on such strange fantasies
But you have yet to realize the true nature of us artists
We find many ways to escape harsh realities 
Creating picture perfect paradises
Or even amplifying how gruesome society can be. 

The reason for writing should be as simple as this.
For the simpleness of a subject should be complemented with something much more simpler.
But if it's too complex for you,
The reason why writers write is as simple as this,
Writers are artists and therefore write to create art,
Like taking a single paintbrush and painting on a canvas board
We as writers take a single pencil and write on blank sheets of paper.
You created problems
Left and Right
You didn't want to solve a single one,
So you let them grow,
Like a white elephant that refuses to leave the room.

And as they grew,
The problems got too rough on you.
So you ignored them all
Slept them away
Dreamed of a happier place
And on the very next day
You forgot each and every one of them.

Just sometimes I wish,
You knew how tall your problems grew,
How wide the white elephant got
And how small our room is now.

You say you don't want to argue,
But all I'm telling you is the truth.
You say you want to end the conversations,
But all I'm saying is lets get rid of the white elephant in the room.
But you still refuse.
So I'm telling you know babe,
Your elephant grew.
Its getting to big,
And this room can't hold me and you.

Your problems continue to grow,
And your elephant is getting to big now,
It might burst soon.
Your creating problems,
Left and Right
And your white elephant is still in this cramped room.
Just sometimes I wish,
You knew how big your elephant grew.
Goddess in sun dress,
She blushes with the cloud burst,
Rain took off her clothes.

— The End —