It's the beauty of every word
The moment that it captures your soul
The intense emotion surrounds you
And all thats left to remember
Is the words
Echoing each symbol
Voicing every single vowel
Can you taste the tragic ending?
Does it bleed with that of which you
Yearn for?
Simple letters spread easily
On the paper
And your hand is now aching
But you are too satisfied with your work to care
It's the beauty of it
The soul and raging emotion
Of the work
That is most indefinite
Poetry
Those who are careless enough
To not appreciate its TURE meaning
Are not deserving
That of the essence of reality
And while you wait on another
Who will come and praise
You on that marvelous work you have done
Are you actually grasping
The art you claim to make?
