Mol

Writing

I have to write a poem,

filling blank white with scrawls of ink,

molding language into images,

filling minds with life. 

 

Pen hovers over paper,

brain blank then suddenly, words,

colouring with bursts and splashes,

painting poetry on a blank canvas.

 

You can't put a price on poetry,

on words that spring from minds,

in this new modernist society,

poetry is one freedom left behind. 

 

Comments1

  • AllTheRandomThings

    Good write! Poetry lives,breathes, and flows through out our being. Much love.



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