A poet
Is a person
That makes words come alive
A poet
Is a shadow
That records how to survive
We are the white rose
In a bush of red
The stream of words we create flows
And bitterly bled
The Blood of sweet simplicity
Or rather deep emotion
Our thoughts are stripped felicity
In a darkened ocean
I wish I weren't like this
The way I wake up with a start
I wish my soul wasn't screaming
Of how broken is my heart
Some have sensitive souls
And some have anxiety
The petals of this bleached rose
Are speckled with OCD
Some have disorders
That we cannot control
And some have minds with no borders
Inspiration is our goal
The roses have no thorns
I wish that I were normal
But instead this rose I am
Never wilts
Nor does it die
I will live on forever
My words will always fly
A contest entry
- What Makes A Poet? by pen-inhand.
1900 points, ended August 15, 2007, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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We are the white rose
In a bush of red
The stream of words we create flows
And bitterly bled
Our thoughts are stripped felicity
(well, I would disagree with that line, though its well worded...)
That makes words come alive
A poet
Is a shadow
That records how to survive
And some have minds with no borders
Inspiration is our goal
nicely done
pegleg -
Your poem is articulate and well written, thank you for entering our contest and the best of luck to you. Kelly & Bob
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