deepundergroundpoetry.com
Empty Phrases of a (Non) Poet
i am here, sitting in this rolling chair
within the gray shades of dissuasion brushed in strokes.
peering at each fathomless prism of lingering words
waiting to be carefully placed upon virgin parchment
i search for the patterns that will give life to the line.
my breath, poetry frozen beginning to melt
my form of solid changing
into liquid thoughts with a downward flow.
sentence after sentence,
metaphor after metaphor,
scribbling in a language unknown to me.
i have lost the point
no direction to turn
trying to fit a square
within a circle
where the pieces do not belong...
i envy Poe and others, their rhythm and flow
the ones who live within the place where poetry grows.
there isn't a harvest of appreciation to reap
if the hand guiding the pen never sows the seed.
so i read, think, and ponder where ever i may go
if my words flowed like music
a soft note for each letter and phrase
this page would be symphony filled,
but as you see this is not worth the time to read
nor worth the time it took to pen.
it is written by me always destined to fail
with a fragile heart and an empty soul
hiding behind the opaque synonyms on the outside...
within the gray shades of dissuasion brushed in strokes.
peering at each fathomless prism of lingering words
waiting to be carefully placed upon virgin parchment
i search for the patterns that will give life to the line.
my breath, poetry frozen beginning to melt
my form of solid changing
into liquid thoughts with a downward flow.
sentence after sentence,
metaphor after metaphor,
scribbling in a language unknown to me.
i have lost the point
no direction to turn
trying to fit a square
within a circle
where the pieces do not belong...
i envy Poe and others, their rhythm and flow
the ones who live within the place where poetry grows.
there isn't a harvest of appreciation to reap
if the hand guiding the pen never sows the seed.
so i read, think, and ponder where ever i may go
if my words flowed like music
a soft note for each letter and phrase
this page would be symphony filled,
but as you see this is not worth the time to read
nor worth the time it took to pen.
it is written by me always destined to fail
with a fragile heart and an empty soul
hiding behind the opaque synonyms on the outside...
Published 11th Feb 2013
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Anonymous
11th Feb 2013 3:10pm
But this was worth the time to read.
[peering at each fathomless prism of lingering words
waiting to be carefully placed upon virgin parchment
i search for the patterns that will give life to the line.
my breath, poetry frozen beginning to melt
my form of solid changing
into liquid thoughts with a downward flow.
sentence after sentence,
metaphor after metaphor,
scribbling in a language unknown to me.
i have lost the point
no direction to turn
trying to fit a square
within a circle
where the pieces do not belong]
*this* IS poetry. And the best kind, at that.
[peering at each fathomless prism of lingering words
waiting to be carefully placed upon virgin parchment
i search for the patterns that will give life to the line.
my breath, poetry frozen beginning to melt
my form of solid changing
into liquid thoughts with a downward flow.
sentence after sentence,
metaphor after metaphor,
scribbling in a language unknown to me.
i have lost the point
no direction to turn
trying to fit a square
within a circle
where the pieces do not belong]
*this* IS poetry. And the best kind, at that.
Anonymous
11th Feb 2013 7:17pm
I'm the one reading, thinking and pondering, these words flowed like music, very nice, write
