Sunday, January 23, 2011

FORTY ONE : The poet

Great flourishes of pen,
Staining paper in black.
Words arranged to give,
Meanings to feelings
Touched inside the heart.

The poet
Paints verses no one understands,
Then stands back and looks on.
From a distance at the pictures.
Realizing with anger:
That what he wrote,
Is worthless in the world.

He vents his anger
Tears the pages
Sets them to flames.
Emotions turning to smoke,
And burning in the pyre

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