Posted: June 25, 2012 in Other Poetry, Poetry

The words of artists

The tongue of visionaries

A fountain from the wrists

And inspiration from vocabularies


Plucked out from the mist

Like magic trick trickery

Tied down with a fist

Onto paper prison, stationary


Like a drenched rag being twist

Liquid words fall from lyrical expertise

And then lines and stanzas begin to exist

In forging fires of the mind forming a piece from pieces


And yet another poet is born among history’s greatest

For great poetry is born in the heart, not on pages

And the heart of man is worth more than any digest

I applaud all who put their heart into poetry without wages.

  1. marcielynns says:

    Interesting … seems you have a poet being born in your heart. Keep it up!

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