Poetry is just
that,
Which is
complicated,
A poem cannot be
simple,
Thus the high
browed say,
My verses have no
beauty,
No symphony, no
rhyme,
They say my verses
are thrash,
A shameful waste of
time,
But I care not for
what they say,
They are free to
blurt what they may,
My words I consider
precious,
If your emotions
they ignite,
I scribble not for
this world,
My beloved, for you I write.
From My Poems: Twenty Ten
No comments:
Post a Comment