Passion flows from the pen.
Lines race through the mind
In a feverish fervor.
Such a noble piece deserves a remarkable title -
Something unique,
Innovative,
Never been done before...
"Untitled."
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Oh to be the young, Untitled poet.
They live in a world of dreamy wonder.
It takes an earnest naivete to believe
That the three stanzas, freshly written
Are beyond the need for a name.
How can words so profound be labeled?
To name the art would do it a disservice,
Surely.
However, do not frown on the Untitled poet.
No one is born with
A sophisticated understanding of the thesaurus.
Indeed, you were once a starry-eyed artist,
As was I.
We all need our time to bake,
Letting our edges singe and crisp.
In due time, they'll look back on their journey
And take note of how they've grown.
After all,
How can you call yourself a writer
If you don't hate your old work?
