A shrine of untold words.

Poetry, words and a young mind.

« Shall I compare thee to a summers day ? »
And the rest is history.
The peak of poetry
Full of wordplay
Sure has amazed me.

And I was aspiring,
To write like Shakespeare.
But we all know, I fear.
That I shall keep dreaming.

I am not Shakespeare
Nor could I ever write like him.
I am just a mere
Thinker of my own time.

But, who says a poem
Has to be sophisticated ?
Does it become
More accepted.
If I throw in some thee thy thou?

And who says my poem isn't great
If it isn't dripping with fancy words.
What good are fancy words that
We don't use anymore?

Would the poems reach the ones in the grave ?
Or would they feed the young mind of our days ?

Poetry is art and it should be preserved.
Not as a bath of dead words,
But as a field of living ones.