Details |
Sam Jacks Poem
Poetry is spontaneous, pure, raw emotion,
don't you dare label what I say as cliche.
This is my perspective of life in motion,
through experiences encountered day by day.
Bleeding and leaking in the form of ink,
my mind paints a beautiful picture.
Writing for the soul pushed to the brink.
Joy and sorrow, such a beautiful mixture.
Poetry fuses all emotions,
time to forget the foolish notion,
that experience stays strict to form,
Time to recreate the norm.
Life's not in Iambic Pentameter,
but it still moves with a lyrical flow.
What some read may come off as amateur,
To others inspire spiritual growth.
As Autumn leaves fall,
Spring begins to blossom,
change is almost here.
Catalyzed by thoughts shared through honest words,
emerging from the emptiness deep down,
A blank verse forged through the pain and sorrow,
Brought to the light through happiness and peace.
Redemption echoing like a shriek in an empty house---
emptying out feelings of defeat.
Poetry is water for the dehydrated soul---
warmth from the desolate cold.
Such a powerful tool should not be limited,
poetry frees me so I write freely.
Free from the burdens of stress carried for so long,
free from the bondage of guidelines to tell my story.
I Write to inspire, to spread desire like wildfire.
No different than mankind, poetry should by judged by its content,
the body and form are institutional nonsense.
Copyright © Sam Jacks | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Sam Jacks Poem
Am I a fool to have let our time pass?
Fears of judgement prohibited progress,
Compared to most you are quite the contrast,
A rose in a field of weeds you fluoresce.
Petrified by thinking I may fall short,
Unable to jump to a world unknown.
A mission for her heart I can't abort,
The time has passed but I'm here to atone.
But in those heavenly eyes I can see,
These hesitant actions put out the flame,
Hopes to rekindle with passion from deep,
Hopeless as an animal caged and tamed.
Clocks progress time as I sit a ponder,
What could have been, I can only wonder.
Copyright © Sam Jacks | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Sam Jacks Poem
Poetry is spontaneous, pure, raw emotion,
don't you dare label what I say as cliche.
This is my perspective of life in motion,
through experiences encountered day by day.
Bleeding and leaking in the form of ink,
my mind paints a beautiful picture.
Writing for the soul pushed to the brink.
Joy and sorrow, such a beautiful mixture.
Poetry fuses all emotions,
time to forget the foolish notion,
that experience stays strict to form,
Time to recreate the norm.
Life's not in Iambic Pentameter,
but it still moves with a lyrical flow.
What some read may come off as amateur,
To others inspire spiritual growth.
As Autumn leaves fall,
Spring begins to blossom,
change is almost here.
Catalyzed by thoughts shared through honest words,
emerging from the emptiness deep down,
A blank verse forged through the pain and sorrow,
Brought to the light through happiness and peace.
Redemption echoing like a shriek in an empty house---
emptying out feelings of defeat.
Poetry is water for the dehydrated soul---
warmth from the desolate cold.
Such a powerful tool should not be limited,
poetry frees me so I write freely.
Free from the burdens of stress carried for so long,
free from the bondage of guidelines to tell my story.
I Write to inspire, to spread desire like wildfire.
No different than mankind, poetry should by judged by its content,
the body and form are institutional nonsense.
Copyright © Sam Jacks | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Sam Jacks Poem
She's the unfamiliar yet feels like home,
Gives me comfort in the midst of chaos.
Makes a man who prefers to be alone,
Crave her company, a total criss cross.
Like a flower she's pleasing to the eye,
Yet my interest exceeds the physical,
Seeking what conversation satisfies,
A connection of intellectuals.
But the pain from my past just won't refrain,
Each day I become more of a skeptic,
Perhaps she's a creation of my brain,
Or she's my happiness resurrected.
If this is pure, I pray it overcomes,
False obstacles that made all others succumb.
Copyright © Sam Jacks | Year Posted 2015
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