Unapologetically.
And they never rhyme.
And sometimes they don't make sense.
Maybe they're about noone.
Maybe they're about you.
Maybe they're just thoughts
that pick at my scabby brain
forcing me to commit them
to living form.
Words simultaneously nothing
and everything.
All things cherished
and maligned.
All things deified
and demonized.
All.
Things.
I write poems.
It's simple, really.
2 comments:
I really like the straight-forwardness of this poem and pretty much all your poems for that matter. I like how you separate "all" and "things" into separate sentences at the end of the first stanza. This emphasizes each word individually yet they still work together as well.
Geez! You're all writing some quality work. I'm jealous...
I dig this poem! I love the image of picking at a scabby brain. As always, your unique metaphors put me at awe. The final lines are also powerful with the repetition of "all things." I like the presentation of the last two lines as well, though I wonder if the lines preceding it end your poem more powerfully. Regardless, I'm jealous and hate you for that.
Post a Comment