Just bemeath chosen words
And rewrites,
There clamours a poem raw
And true,
Free of likes and critique,
Above bandwagon scociety,
There a poet can believe in
The art of the experience:
I am alive between each word,
The hand on fire
As sudden urges froze me
In the actiin of my words
To jot them down,
What captures my life like
The inspired word,
And the need to capture a moment
On paper,
Where I was is now instilled
Like the metaphor of life,
And I am one with the unspoken,
As i have stopped and
Undone.
Words pause me,
Propel me,
And I freeze in the flow
Where life happend
And i stop all things
To write it down stuck
Between the stanzas.
The poet can write life,
Rarely does the experience
Saturate the time of a writer.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
Just bemeath chosen words
And rewrites,
There clamours a poem raw
And true,
Free of likes and critique,
Above bandwagon scociety,
There a poet can believe in
The art of the experience:
I am alive between each word,
The hand on fire
As sudden urges froze me
In the actiin of my words
To jot them down,
What captures my life like
The inspired word,
And the need to capture a moment
On paper,
Where I was is now instilled
Like the metaphor of life,
And I am one with the unspoken,
As i have stopped and
Undone.
Words pause me,
Propel me,
And I freeze in the flow
Where life happend
And i stop all things
To write it down stuck
Between the stanzas.
The poet can write life,
Rarely does the experience
Saturate the time of a writer.
