The perplexity of a poet's mind
Is bewildering and so I find
The need to write each day
The words
The thoughts
The scenes I see.
The oddities, the peculiarities in
Every day life,
And of course the agony.
Pain and suffering, it's not new.
Those who escape with early death
They're the lucky ones, the few.
And then my mind shifts eagerly
To pleasures
To delights
To scenes I see
Of happier times and funny things
In every day life.
And of course the beauty,
Springtime flowers. They are new.
Those who explore them while they're here
They're the lucky ones, so near
To perfection.
And so life's duality
Takes its toll on my pen.
But brings peace to me
As only my poetry can.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah! Much truth in this particular poem! Thank goodness for pen and paper! (still my preferable way to write!)