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Wake up with a jump and a start. This isn't just prose, this is an art. To weave your stories, through and through, with broken pen and missing shoe. With mixed conviction, perfect diction, convicts swoon at your traditions. As long as you believe the lines make sense, they'll breathe your soul and lack pretense. Self-defense from knives to words and songs to birds, soaring o'er the roar and o'er the dives, through the skyscraper's windows, break a floor and seek to strive. Words are not just words, I've heard many a stern voice attacking a sturdy herd of wavering wordsmiths who have forgetten that they have a choice. Alliteration counts as craftful creation and the tale of poets shows it: these sentences are paintings of a nation. Decorating time and space and all its stations of making a stand. You're a poet, perfectly pathological, hurting through rose- colored opticals and bleeding for something beautifuly better, just getting lost calls but keep searching for the right letters; don't let the sands of time make you hate your written desert. It's worth your weary hands.
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Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
Rhyme But No Reason
Wake up with a jump and a start. This isn't just prose, this is an art. To weave your stories, through and through, with broken pen and missing shoe. With mixed conviction, perfect diction, convicts swoon at your traditions. As long as you believe the lines make sense, they'll breathe your soul and lack pretense. Self-defense from knives to words and songs to birds, soaring o'er the roar and o'er the dives, through the skyscraper's windows, break a floor and seek to strive. Words are not just words, I've heard many a stern voice attacking a sturdy herd of wavering wordsmiths who have forgetten that they have a choice. Alliteration counts as craftful creation and the tale of poets shows it: these sentences are paintings of a nation. Decorating time and space and all its stations of making a stand. You're a poet, perfectly pathological, hurting through rose- colored opticals and bleeding for something beautifuly better, just getting lost calls but keep searching for the right letters; don't let the sands of time make you hate your written desert. It's worth your weary hands.
silly rhyming poem for myself and all the others out there.
solemnmaya
Written by
14/F/California
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
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