POETS
by
joy balan
Searching for a cause;
Seeing rabbits in rocks;
People call us mad,
But all poets are.
Messing with words;
Trying to rhyme,
Painting to perfect;
Ink on paper blank,
People call us eccentric;
But all poets’ are.
Flirting with books;
Penning every song;
Catching every emotion,
Alive and gone.
People despise us;
Some even laugh;
But we are relentless,
Going on and on….
Seeing rabbits in rocks;
People call us mad,
But all poets are.
Messing with words;
Trying to rhyme,
Painting to perfect;
Ink on paper blank,
People call us eccentric;
But all poets’ are.
Flirting with books;
Penning every song;
Catching every emotion,
Alive and gone.
People despise us;
Some even laugh;
But we are relentless,
Going on and on….
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Poetry.com 3.5 out of 5 based on 4 votes.
I wish the writer could say more.
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Thanks for sharing
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the flow of the poet, nice
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we are indeed poets... nicely put
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