Rushing Poetry Into the Battle Field
Can you hear my words taking shape,
To that of a heart, to that of a rose,
Slowly falling into decay to the very taste of my lively words.
“And they say poetry is dying”
My words filled with unconditional woe,
Sweetly symphonizes into your ears,
And caresses your frail mind, into the blissful unknown.
“And they say poetry is falling deaf, to these virgins and to the unchaste ears”.
Out of misery and tragedy,
A thing of beauty is formed, simply by the elegance of a words vision.
“For my Poetry; is my sword, my shield, and my comfort. All guiding and ever floating me
into the battlefield to all that is life.”
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