As of late, the poems I've read
don't really grasp the potential
to not be critiqued
by someone
Artists today don't keep their emotions
at bay,
instead, they bask in a puddle of
stagnant water,
that purifies not the soul
Declining the opportunity
to really delve inside,
and shake off the muck
from those soiled hands that
chose not to listen,
but bluster
in a fit of frustration
over puppy love
A true poet shines light
on everything,
but most will never engross a tone
audible enough
to reveal absolute clarity
