Why do you write
Blaring musics
Drown out my thoughts,
Like overwhelming winds,
Fighting the poetic extinction,
Of survival in yourself.
For when high grasses do sit amongst the peoples,
Lies always mold into words,
And locks are picked
Of secret rooms
Once covered in dust so thick,
That only the great could see through.
But now the rooms have been swept clean
With damned beautiful lies,
Damned passionate lies,
And alas the deepest lies of heart.
Which are so hideous in comparison to real thought,
That the truths hide, never to surface from the darkest corners,
While the gates flap open, broken on there hinges,
As hordes of poets run in.
The written now frown
And swell with despair,
When works become so sweet,
That the aftertaste must be bitter and rotten.
Pools must dam in their eyes,
When elegant words,
Have backwards meanings.
They must cry out in pain,
When their eyes close for unmeasurable times,
Only to awake and see a craft corrupted,
By modern day morals.
I must console them,
Promising that I, among few have not forgotten,
The meaning of it all.
Promising that change can affect,
Throngs of disgruntled people,
With no outlet to refuge their passionate conflictions.
So with beliefs alive on paper, I demand that you ask yourself. What do you write about?
|
