There is a price to be paid,
For everything.
The price for love,
Is independence.
The price for freedom,
Is order.
The price for order,
Is freedom.
The price of knowledge,
Is innocence.
The price of physical objects,
Is money.
The price of a mistake,
Is a reputation.
The price of perfection,
Is sanity.
The price of an organ,
Is a life.
The price of a life,
Is precision.
The price of loss,
Is losing that which you love.
The price of religion,
Is reasoning.
The price of reasoning,
Is religion.
The price of equality,
Is humanity.
Everything has a price,
And the price,
Is painful.
And the price to write poetry is getting that annoying notification saying it takes a certain amount of seconds to read it and asking you whether you're sure you want to publish it. The italicized line is a line I borrowed from Charcoal J. Ink Name. She's an unknown writer, but I edit her work. That idea isn't mine though. I think she's planning on publishing a book.
-Cat
YOU ARE READING
If
PoetryIt's a poetry book. For poetry. Edgar Allen Poe-etry. (These poems have nothing to do with Edgar Allen Poe. I saw the pun and I made it.)
