A poet can’t be poem-bled
(an empty shell)
till Muse has fled.
A poet can’t be lost for words,
(a dried up well)
ignored by herds.
A poet can’t be wooed or won
(by witch’s spell;)
it can’t be done!
A poet can’t be poem-bled
(in poet’s hell)
until he’s dead!
- Author: Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: February 7th, 2021 05:28
- Comment from author about the poem: to encourage poet friends
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, Kevin Michael Bloor
Comments5
I like it ! Because of the good rhythm and rhyme and interesting content
Thank you, Willow. Just a paltry piece of rhyme I strung together. Thanks for taking the time. By the way, I like your Mist poem, I left a comment.
Good write Kevin.
Thanks O.
True that, Kevin.
That muse is always there within us.
Andy
Thanks Andy
a penned gift of solace for all us wannabe Poet's,
inked by a gifted Poet's mind...
Many thanks LB.
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