…inspires one to wonder of what you might think anything is “for”.
The hour is late.
So easy to hate.
No need to try,
or reason the why.
Just hate it all,
…until you die.
Behind the closed door,
one wonders what it’s all for.
Beauty
What describes pleasure
Without intention
Sans it’s own aspiration
Perceived
Is more than it was
Before it was beautiful
A purity of sightfulness
Drunk without forethought
And seeping into our very being
Replacing the shadowy crevices
Taking away darkness
Warming the spaces long cobwebbed
With the deepest breath
Flooding through
I’m published. Are you?
This tread was meant to be a poetry tag. Are you trying to usurp it as Trixie did the other thread? Maybe not. Maybe you just don’t get poetry. I wish I could say something to persuade you of its value. You like songs? They are poetry put to music. Rap is poetry.