A poem is a product
Of some distilled idea
It may be nurtured and watered
In the search for a truth
Or with weed-like secrecy grown
In some corner of the brain
The poet doesn't begin
With structure, form and tone
It's in the volatile solution
The bare essence of the thought
That words, stripped to the bone
Become 70% proof
Like the spirit of some grain
Or vegetable or fruit
It could be about anything
Love, hate or war,
The beauty of nature, what is life for ...
But will be delivered like a baby
Steaming, screaming to the page
Demanding of the world - ENGAGE
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beauty of nature. good perspective. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.