Saturday, August 02, 2008
Poetry to some is words of rhyme
Others see it as a way to kill time
He sees neither
You shouldn’t either
At times his mind opens
Of the world left hidden and unspoken
Pen down, uncontrolled and unguided
Words just appear, bold and binded
Hoping to make sense of it all
He tries to make every word fall
Into place which hopefully make some sense at all
He does it out of fun,
He does it out of pleasure
Amusing himself with the poetic treasure
Out of this he finds joy
Out of this, he is known as the poetic boy
the name isnt fierce, but that will do =)
smoke on the water.
2:07 AM
