disturbed of evening
a troubled mind
calls out for
pen to paper
no practiced skill
nor noble art here
finds an easy word
but pain within
cries for release
through finest
crudity
of word
crafted
without curves
allured whilst
tears abated
and thence
a seed was sewn...
. .....a poet born
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Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: December 19th, 2021 00:43
- Comment from author about the poem: originally from Dec 2019, slightly revised here
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: spilleronsheet, FallenAngel1🕊
Offline)
Comments5
.....as we all were.
Andy
Many shall resonate
But I can’t resist to relate more to such fine lines you store
Yes that's exactly how it is, from a word or a thought or a sound or a vision....the seed. Beautifully said.
Just that little seed, and a word become more words and a page is born.
The simplicity of the poem reflects the speaker's purported lack of artifice and expertise. But of course only an expert could have penned this!
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