"hypocratic" poems - Hello Poetry

The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile, the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh. The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach, a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda. The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet. The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life, the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin. The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset, the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to dune drunk shore. The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair, the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality. The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic concrete hypocratic world. The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights, Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts in verse,bleedin fragranted words. The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn. A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom. The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration, the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose. He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred. He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant of destined paths. He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century. The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday, He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark of tomorrow. T H E POET IS YOU ! ! !

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Nov 6, 2010

Nov 6, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC

flower-scent

WHO IS THE pOET ?

The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile, the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh. The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach, a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda. The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet. The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life, the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin. The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset, the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to dune drunk shore. The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair, the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality. The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic concrete hypocratic world. The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights, Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts in verse,bleedin fragranted words. The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn. A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom. The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration, the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose. He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred. He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant of destined paths. He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century. The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday, He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark of tomorrow. T H E POET IS YOU ! ! !

25

I am sick and tired of you talking about other girls Calling them weird and ugly and fake When it is you who slathers on the makeup Hiding behind false beauty I am tired of overhearing you calling a girl fat Because she is not a size two When it is you who starved yourself To look as you do today I am done with you walking like you have a stick up your *** Pretentiously scavenging the halls for your next target When it is you who has been the target as of late And you pay no mind I am appalled by your arrogance Telling professionals they have no right to tell you how to live When they can see where you are heading For you are not as original as you seem I am sorry for how sad you must be Constantly looking inward When all you find is an empty abyss Peering back at you I am apologetic for what you have to go through Constantly fighting battles that are far beyond your years When they are far bigger then you And anything you can do Most of all I am content That we are not longer friends No longer yearning for When all you could tell me Was how bad I was.

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May 13, 2014

May 13, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC

becca-7

Hypocratic Oath

I am sick and tired of you talking about other girls Calling them weird and ugly and fake When it is you who slathers on the makeup Hiding behind false beauty I am tired of overhearing you calling a girl fat Because she is not a size two When it is you who starved yourself To look as you do today I am done with you walking like you have a stick up your *** Pretentiously scavenging the halls for your next target When it is you who has been the target as of late And you pay no mind I am appalled by your arrogance Telling professionals they have no right to tell you how to live When they can see where you are heading For you are not as original as you seem I am sorry for how sad you must be Constantly looking inward When all you find is an empty abyss Peering back at you I am apologetic for what you have to go through Constantly fighting battles that are far beyond your years When they are far bigger then you And anything you can do Most of all I am content That we are not longer friends No longer yearning for When all you could tell me Was how bad I was.

30

I would rather walk a path of admitted ignorance, Desiring of knowledge; than rest, in superior repose, And seek out the "meaning of life" with exuberance, Than hold company with one who claims he knows. I would rather read lessons written by fools, Who gained understanding in repeated mistakes. Than listen to lectures from scholars in schools, Who claim all -knowing, though no chances did take. I would rather share some tea with a child, Whose innocence inspires me to pray. Than bread and wine with revered priest, Whose hypocratic actions lead me astray. I would rather discover beauty in a foe And throw off my old regard, Than unseemliness in a long time friend, And assume new thoughts, marred.

0

Mar 21, 2010

Mar 21, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC

deanena-tierney

I would rather....

I would rather walk a path of admitted ignorance, Desiring of knowledge; than rest, in superior repose, And seek out the "meaning of life" with exuberance, Than hold company with one who claims he knows. I would rather read lessons written by fools, Who gained understanding in repeated mistakes. Than listen to lectures from scholars in schools, Who claim all -knowing, though no chances did take. I would rather share some tea with a child, Whose innocence inspires me to pray. Than bread and wine with revered priest, Whose hypocratic actions lead me astray. I would rather discover beauty in a foe And throw off my old regard, Than unseemliness in a long time friend, And assume new thoughts, marred.

16

Doctor, please, take me out of quarantine, I need fresh air to breathe, the sun to feel, Seems queasy in here, this room shrinks, It stinks, but it's not me, it's the environment, Let me out, please, it's not my fault, These walls, pads, and bars are not for my health Doctor, please, have some sympathy For a young life yearning to leave, this place it thieves Of all healing, listen, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm not broken, I'm fine, I'm burning inside With a fever your medicine cannot aleve, Yes, I'm weak, But its your fault, not mine, open the door, I implore, So the world can welcome me with open arms and intimacy.

0

Mar 19, 2017

Mar 19, 2017 at 2:57 AM UTC

young-al

Hypocratic

Doctor, please, take me out of quarantine, I need fresh air to breathe, the sun to feel, Seems queasy in here, this room shrinks, It stinks, but it's not me, it's the environment, Let me out, please, it's not my fault, These walls, pads, and bars are not for my health Doctor, please, have some sympathy For a young life yearning to leave, this place it thieves Of all healing, listen, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm not broken, I'm fine, I'm burning inside With a fever your medicine cannot aleve, Yes, I'm weak, But its your fault, not mine, open the door, I implore, So the world can welcome me with open arms and intimacy.

15