Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jim Davis Oct 2019
The Moving Finger writes;
and, having writ
Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to
cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
wash out a word of it.
Apropos for our profession of poetry I believe!  

From Wikipedia:  Omar Khayyam (/kaɪˈjɑːm/; Persian: عمر خیّام‎ [oˈmæɾ xæjˈjɒːm]; 18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet.[3][4][5] He was born in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran, and spent most of his life near the court of the Karakhanid and Seljuq rulers in the period which witnessed the First Crusade.

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics quotes the tradition that the Persian quatrain-form, the ruba'i, originated in the gleeful shouts of a child, overheard and imitated by a passing poet.
Adereti Daniel Sep 2015
Slowly learning to pace myself.
In the event, I might manage to know myself.
Hidden from you, from me too...
Not like I decided to.
Most things with me
are unplanned.

It's just an ease on my cold heart.
You are such fire.
Pardon my cold.
If it's distance, then I'd rather fall away.
I don't maintain pace as long i should, yet you do deserve me
(i do too)... pause

Is this an aim to be better or am I lying to myself?

— The End —