look at these despicable words erased and rewritten for the sixteenth time.
laugh as his brain does ponder, seeking desperately for a rhyme.
he scrambles around for ideas, something to make his poem more attractive.
but he knows he's drab and stagnant; needs to keep an audience captive.
he writes down beautiful words but defines himself a hypocrite.
he forces feelings for his readers, that's why it's simply bullshit.
what he fails to realize is we're not easily fooled by the surface.
no matter how creative the metaphor is, what matters if there is no purpose?
a poet's hand can describe indeed what a man of logic can never fathom.
but decorated rubbish is simply garbage at most; where can we find the passion?
he writes himself a poem an hour, begging to be recognized by poets galore
but as pen leaves paper and his passion dies, he never knew that writing was more.
a period placed upon great potential; what a shame it was indeed.
another dying book of broken dreams wasted and left to bleed.
ČTEŠ
It (#Wattys2016)
Poezie| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
