The failed aspirations of poets,
Man, I don't even know what that means,
But I think I see it every day.
If you listen, listen with a mind open
You can hear it in the daylight,
Make out the whispers in the shadows,
The strange taste of men's souls.
And I can see why so many artists work alone.
Paper is pure, but people, people are judgmental.
(9 January 2015)
YOU ARE READING
An Aged, Bitter Collection of Poetry, Prose, & Papers
PoetryThere once was a sad girl, not that long ago, in a kingdom not so far away. Perhaps a glance into her somber scribbles might help you on your quest to scribble for yourself.
