A Poet and Simply Nothing More
This world will never know me, who I am
within my core.
It seems as if superficial expressions leave nothing to explore.
So, no one ever comes to rap upon
my door.
Through a window in my heart my soul remembers how to soar.
Nothing special seen of me, likewise,
no good reason to adore.
Words give to me a purpose. A shining light, where none was seen before.
When others read my work understanding becomes a chore.
It’s as if they’re picking up the broken pieces of the man I was before.
When will they realize what I truly have in store?
Every letter transmitting new ideas! Can they envision such a spore?
What mundane has stripped away, I promise we will soon restore.
To hell with common anything! With the characterless we’ll go to war!
Peering across a sea of puce, with our feet planted firmly upon the shore….
If only words were relevant, and did not act as merely document decor.
This world will never know me, who I am within
my core.
I’ll never will the world well. I am just a poet, and simply nothing more.
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