It's Kinda Funny in a Way (Poetry & Poets)

It's kinda funny in a way
How a poets only true friend is the
Struggle of hatred and imagery
Hidden in a pen
The animosity that has built up over
Nothing more than
The mirrored verse of an emptied word

The prolonged description of
Loathing and destruction about
Something that's only beautiful
When it's begging on it's knees
Crippled by the restriction of an
Individuals vapid,
Possibly (doubtfuly)
Even pure of hearts, imagination

It's kinda funny in a way
When ebony is the glassy peripheral
Of a lunatics sight
(What writer claims sanity?
Surely not one I've ever come across)
When a poet excludes the
Remembrance of a joy so faintly
Experienced
For the sake of a trauma delivered
With poor excuses of a withered quill

How blood shot pupils view the
Charades of clipped owls before dawn
In hopes of illustrating the intuition
Of a feathered superstitions ambiance
Yet all that is accomplished is hazy
Perception and limited understanding
So personal torment and the void of ones
Thoughts is replaced and labeled as art
And serendipity is claimed as the result
Of a rusted blade of repetitive vocabulary

It's kinda funny in a way
How judgmental and lost in
Self conspiracies a poem really is
How disgusting the window into
Someones soul can be confused
With something lovely and elegant
When in reality it's nothing more than
Regret and shameless unspoken
Truths cloaked behind a stanza

I wonder what it's like to be a paragraph
To be the letters forced together
Spelling something that is just as
Insignificant as the person who
Desperately admits their sins
On paper cuts of enigmas
Understand the real surly meaning
Behind a sentence that speaks of
Tranquil fields of roses underneath
The skillfully rationalized out metaphor

It's kinda funny in a way
That I give two shits to begin with