Day after day we read the poetry
of the glitterati and the novice,
who pen meaningless metaphors
to incarcerate endless nonsense.
Like waves of a mindless tsunami,
they crash one after another
on distant and empty shores
where blind men conjure visions.
We hang stars in imagined night
to fight with the moon of dreams.
We cry out with our fears and tears
trying to touch a hopeless wind.
We search for wisdom in the seasons,
and pray the gods may really care.
While here within our quaint verse,
the universe conceals its mystery.
I enjoyed this so all the worlds a poet sometimes good, sometimes bad, maybe mediocre this does not fit any of these this is just brilliant thanks
Thanks. No matter how hard I work at it, I often feel I fall short of my own expectations. Of thousands of poems I have written, I hope I have 100 good ones.
You have written a masterpiece here, it should be poem of the day! ! ! Hanging stars in the imagined night...well done my friend! ! !
Thanks Bill for the comment and the praise. Poetry is hard to write isn't it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Within our quaint verse, the universe conceals its mystery. Loaded with wisdom. A poet truly is an inspired being. Poetry has something to teach whether ordinary or extraordinary.10
Yes indeed but my own poetry never seems to turn out as good as I'd like. Robert Browning said it well Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?