True Poetry
Poetry is not a rhyme,
Nor is it a reason,
Poetry is the very heart of our treason.
In the bleeding heart is where it all begins,
Never knowing to what end it sends,
A forgotten message in a bottle,
Perfect lives we love to model.
Yet Perfect dreams,
Are never what the seem,
True lies,
Loose ties,
False reality,
Dreams of heaven's falicy.
Poetry is the very window to our soul,
Yet such a truth takes its toll,
To open our heart's inner desires,
To breath the fire of fear,
Deadly lives we love to bare.
For as we scribe our words to be,
We open our naked universe for all to see,
In doing so we allow our fear to be set free.
Free to become a lonely whisper in the echo of the night,
Free to see the endless truth and the eternal light.
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True poetry is not written word,
It is the living word of a poet's life...
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