My poetry lies there forgotten
Amidst the bustling crowd
Piled up books weighing it down
Books about practicality, books about reality
My poetry is still bursting
With possibilities of magic and of love
Ah! But the weight of logic
Weights down upon it
My poetry is all I rely on
Because the real world
Is too much to carry with myself
So I don't let it in
My poetry is my only visitor
On days when all is lost
It comes passionately, doesn't stay for long
And it retires exhausted
My poetry is.
My poetry was.
But, will my poetry be?
Ah! My poetry is 'me'
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
My poetry lies there forgotten
Amidst the bustling crowd
Piled up books weighing it down
Books about practicality, books about reality
My poetry is still bursting
With possibilities of magic and of love
Ah! But the weight of logic
Weights down upon it
My poetry is all I rely on
Because the real world
Is too much to carry with myself
So I don't let it in
My poetry is my only visitor
On days when all is lost
It comes passionately, doesn't stay for long
And it retires exhausted
My poetry is.
My poetry was.
But, will my poetry be?
Ah! My poetry is 'me'
