Ah, the regard, or disregard, of the poets' ever-pressing intention.
Beheld by afar, nobility counts; their works too foolish to mention.
Not acclaimed as skilled,
For not learned in school;
Eyed with disdain,
Slandered a fool,
Never renowned, praised, or appraised, or gainfully held in contention.
Purpose is such, (pure irony), never seeking of fortune or gain.
But only to expel the catalyst, desperate attempt to feel sane.
Writing merely,
To quiet the soul.
Transferring chaos,
The primary goal.
As with a plan, hastily made; frantically, frantically plotting in vain.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 5:17 PM UTC
Ah, the regard, or disregard, of the poets' ever-pressing intention.
Beheld by afar, nobility counts; their works too foolish to mention.
Not acclaimed as skilled,
For not learned in school;
Eyed with disdain,
Slandered a fool,
Never renowned, praised, or appraised, or gainfully held in contention.
Purpose is such, (pure irony), never seeking of fortune or gain.
But only to expel the catalyst, desperate attempt to feel sane.
Writing merely,
To quiet the soul.
Transferring chaos,
The primary goal.
As with a plan, hastily made; frantically, frantically plotting in vain.
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