A Poetic Composition a Poet's Worth
I hear lonely words call, I'm a poet.
I've kept them hidden as a souvenir.
Color painted pictures without regret,
And write with meanings not always clear.
Deep within harmonic strings play a tune,
And vibrate cluttered walls to passion's heart.
Shaking shadowed spirits to last commune,
And clutching imagined words that now impart.
Oh, That this beautiful connection stay,
And fill the world with my purest thought.
To allow words of wonder to convey,
Truth from a poet's spirit always sought.
Dare a poet share his sanctuary.
If his purest words are imaginary.
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014
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