Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Kindness is niceness perched
On the pedestal of goodness.
An ever burbling fountain of
Warmth, feeling and empathy
A white thorn less rose of purity
And good intention, rarer than
Hen’s teeth and it does scythe
Through the ice of insensitivity
With a precision that’s unmatched.
it's essential to mind being kind
In each of her eyes
Is a lone star
All around abound
In vastness are oceans
Hauntingly blue, I bet
On my life there are sharks too
Swimming in them waters.
Take a peek at your own risk
With their big teeth
No longer scared on feet
We sit on wooden stool
Toast to the newest fool

Hands searching for
what isn't found anymore
We no longer wait by the door

We dance with wolves
paws slam like metal hooves
We only find the remaining goods

We are a creation of self design
Our actions make perfect align
It's the direction of a sign
We are equally divine

Cut my throat
Watch me choke
But every world is a haunting ghost
It's the kind you'll forget but find the most

Speak with deaf tones
I no longer throw those stones
But every word is carved in my bones
And your presence forever roams

It's a joke for the masses
Led by the best actress
She died one thousand times on the same mattress

But she's a forest fire that never dies
Pierced by every single lie
She has scars from every time

You might think you're better
Ahead of her you're so clever
But look a little closer
You will never break her
Wondering what I should write
and floundering in my own confusion
I thought – why not write about poems
that set me thinking what poems are
A poem could be anything.......!
at best, distilled thoughts put into rhyme
or a moment caught in time
a window glimpse into the world
an engrossing passion’s ardent curl
a snap shot of scenes from Nature- wild
or a slice of life, birth or death
      
sometimes it could be a yearning  
or an image long hung on a pole
a thought turned inside out
or the emptying of a mind about to spill
it could be the liberation of a fancy,
for long held in thralldom
a gnawing pain, long suppressed
or a secret, never divulged
      
As I pondered over the subjects’ enormity
and a poem’s vast scope,
I asked myself- ‘Why hesitate?’
soon I felt a stir inside,
my thoughts broke loose
a terrible block lifted off my head
my silence became audible
I embroidered these thoughts
into the pattern of a poem

Here it is before you, have a look at it
Will it annoy you or will you enjoy!
Recently I have been running short of subjects to write a poem. The writer's block weighs me down. Reading the beautiful poems of my friends here, I long to write something. Finally I thought I should write a poem on a Poem
Next page