With the pen, we linger.
Our heart, we pored out.
Our feelings, the clearer.
Finding words; when we are, it's like a bout.
Very spiritual, ask the real ones.
Pain-free, when it's coming easily.
Pain-ful, the writer's block forms.
Sigh! Finding motivation for our gree.
Blissful, it's our hope.
Unsubdued, a talent that brets.
In a globe full of glope.
We've found our own trait.
Having fun with intelligence, we often let out.
Ideas, muchly underrated.
Flashed stuffs, the world's missing out.
Desole poets, I know I've understated.
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
With the pen, we linger.
Our heart, we pored out.
Our feelings, the clearer.
Finding words; when we are, it's like a bout.
Very spiritual, ask the real ones.
Pain-free, when it's coming easily.
Pain-ful, the writer's block forms.
Sigh! Finding motivation for our gree.
Blissful, it's our hope.
Unsubdued, a talent that brets.
In a globe full of glope.
We've found our own trait.
Having fun with intelligence, we often let out.
Ideas, muchly underrated.
Flashed stuffs, the world's missing out.
Desole poets, I know I've understated.
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
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