Poetry
When feelings are place in words
Are there feelings to have remained?
To accomplish, to have what’s to hurt
Will one ever understand poetry again?
Poems to belong one’s darkest desire
Poems to venture against dreams
Burning in lust, in sexual fire
Who says poetry is to mean?
Of good and of evil
Of words and of time
Beyond depthless hell and of angels
Of wordings where no one is place behind
It seems only to just be words
Yet of words to mean a meaning too deep
And to simply understand to be heard
Is there no will to have desire to seek?
True and meaningful, to only perceive
Sadness and sorrow, love and tranquility
Though of meaning different for each to receive
Perhaps an enigma remains the essence of poetry
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