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ShapeShifters

Words...

Mysterious,

Aren't they?

For a King,

An absolute edict.

For a Slave,

A dying plea.

If by the 'Wise',

A lesson.

From the Fool,

A mere jest.

Now stay with me!

Won't you?

These words:

A poet's

Introversion.

Not Constant,

Rather, Dynamic--

The ear they fall upon,

The mouth they leave.

Enigmatic,

Bestowing strength upon

The ones who dare.

Pretentitous

Are the appearances

Guarding the core.

For it's not flesh,

But rather the words

That remain.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

Parth-Vij

22 / M

Published: Mar 13
LinesWords: 2977

Tags: #poetry #staccato #words #king #slave

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell Parth-Vij how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

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