Arthur Vaso Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

Poet's Gold

Poet's Gold

Not always in a glass
Observes from the humble heart til last
Call out with his pen, his voice soft as a cool wind
His lense on life, colored by history’s whim
Writing becomes his eye towards the truth and
Sky

      Always, and ever asking himself the why?

             A poet’s gold
             His diversity

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Anne-Marie Coreggia May 20, 2017 at 9:13 AM This is wonderfully expressed Arthur; I love it:) Amitiés

Tim Smith May 20, 2017 at 7:16 AM An amazing write Arthur

Darren White May 20, 2017 at 1:08 AM I love your poem. It reminds me of a poet with pen and paper, in sepia colours, somewhere in a cold room on the top floor of a high building, earning just enough to stay alive... But never ceasing to write.