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wizemanbob — Poetry in My Soul
#passion #poetry
Published: 2015-04-13 17:40:47 +0000 UTC; Views: 114; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 0
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Description There is no poetry in my soul.
It is not merely formless,
It simply isn't there.
This skill I have with words
Falls flat when shown to
The elegance beyond prose.
Passion, that thing
That heats the heart
And sears the soul,
Is chilled by my tongue.
Passion instills form.
Form creates a vessel.
The vessel stores the beauty.
The beauty is the nectar
That flows pure into
The heart and mind of
The reader, whose soul
Is fed by that elegance.
But I cannot feed souls.
This formless waste I prepare
Is poison, nothing more.
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Comments: 3

Teague-Drydan [2015-05-29 15:44:56 +0000 UTC]

The capitals at the beginning of each line distracted me towards the end.  Otherwise nicely written.  It's in tune with some things I've noticed about my own poetry writing (tho, if loosing poetry is the cost for being free--that is a price I will gladly pay over and over again).

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wizemanbob In reply to Teague-Drydan [2015-05-30 04:27:27 +0000 UTC]

I think that might have been the point at the time I wrote it. It's technically sound, but there's something a little off about it. I always feel that way with poems. It reminds me of the quote "I'm sorry I didn't have the time to write a shorter letter". Basically it's not quite wrong, but it's not quite right.

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Teague-Drydan In reply to wizemanbob [2015-05-31 02:30:54 +0000 UTC]

I know how that is; I've got a few in that state as well.

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