My poems are like whispers of a Devil, sublime –
too many cynical words with no decent rhyme,
weaving treason against the emptiness within
your wretched life as hollow as an apparent dream.
Each one is like a fang of my virulent thoughts,
with urgings to see through yourself to find the Naught,
dripping poison of frustration into your blood –
my poems are metered for both your brain and the heart.
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Reblogged this on The Outpouring of My Heart.
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thanks a lot!
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No problem. It is very beautifully written.
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Reblogged this on Poems and commented:
🙂
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I am only a struggling poet : ) You hold me in high regard sir. The little I can tell is only because you express it well.
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you are too modest and kind…
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Its Bold. Its raw. It shrieks of the dilemma of a poet who writes his emotions so openly on paper yet doesn’t reveal it with urgency in person.
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coming from a poet like you, this i shall hold as one of the most precious words ever said to me in appreciation of my poetry. though i know that our paths have never crossed, it seems that you can tell who i am like Rembrandt portrayed a face….
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