For there is nothing ugly about prose
Regardless of how horrific,
or sad ones woes
With a simple rhyme, an elegant flair
All of a sudden,
There's no "out of place" hair
I am a poet
And poets can be sad
It's really ok,
Weather you think it good or bad
That's what we do, we spin a web
With words, and sounds
To seduce your head.
Don't ask me, (so silly) - if I "feel"
Of course I do- in surreal!
In me it's all beauty,
From whatever edge you spin it,
Even if,
borrowed truth
is all that's within it.
No comments:
Post a Comment