Poet
Darkness,
behind the cloak.
Random words spewed
Subconscience thought,
so obscure their meaning
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
Eerie blackness
within a wretched,
reckless soul
reveals the heart of men
but you,
eyes open, don't blink
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
The day of light
when darkness passes
Brilliant stars
hide beyond the heavens.
But all you know is hell
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
Be anything...,
a janitor,
a carpenter,
an accountant,
a fry cook.
Never become a poet.
Stay numb. It's easier.
Unless you want to feel.
Than be prepared for
internal turmoil.
Turmoil, most common
men could never bare.
[...] Read more
poem by Tim Labbe
Added by Poetry Lover
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