So innocently you'll stand by,
Couldn't be me, you coudnt stop to think,
To many I hope, I send a wish and a wink,
That perhaps you'd see me as another guy,
Fresh from the womb,
Yet to think,
Heart, so free of hardship it couldn't sink,
Yet makers pride or prejudice spell his doom,
Throughout life, be so hard-done-by,
Walking by, high and mighty,
The only in the room, that's not so unsightly
Yet to think, yet to ask why,
For a second they hold their thought,
With smug and smirk in hand,
They talk, and speak, from their own mental land,
Yet to think, as their ideal turn to rot,
A sludge of opinion and semantic,
Clearly the chosen path,
By who's hand chose or bring wrath,
We'll never know the name of the critic
I try to speak,
Reason and logic all drained,
Perhaps this is all arranged,
Because now I've hit your peak,
So many tricks,
twisting my words like a mid-evil device,
My agreeing won't ever suffice,
Because half of my words is all you pick.
YOU ARE READING
Feeling it
Poetrysit down for some random poetry **Please note these are not based on my feelings, rather they are what I find fun to write about.**
