Poetry
 




Poetry is silent imagery
And poetry is a painting that speaks!
Plutarch!




Deep within the soul a talent lives
Like hot passion on cold nights
It' s a thirst that cannot be ignored
It' s a poets urge to write



For inside the heart of all mankind
Is the marvelous gift of words
But unless the thirst burns deep enough
They never will be heard



Each day a tiny voice cries out
To express it' s joy or pain
All the things that man keeps bottled up
A urge to laugh thorough rain



Like a heat it burns each gentle mind
So difficult to control
Those flames rise up till he finds a pen
To scribble down his soul



Neither dark of night or Sun by day
Can degree that awesome flow
For when poets pen meets paper
The hidden talent shows



He shares his laughter, love and tears
All emotions man goes through
That's the sacred fire from the poets dreams
That he's sharing there with you



His words , they climb a staircase
From the page to touch the stars
Then rebound across the universe
To reach those eyes of ours


And whether they are bad or good
Sometimes he can't control
But his spirit' s easy , life is good
He cleansed for now.. his soul



By jollynoblefrog

© 2013 jollynoblefrog (All rights reserved)

 

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