Perspicuous

A poem about how art, poetry, family, and friends can help you in life.

Solitude, pondering, whether or not to be,

a part of society, when the world just brings you down.

Why on these terms, do these words mean anything?

When overcome with life, one can simply drown.

 

Writing, drawing, manipulation of sorts,

artistic assimilation, resulting in love. 

The intellectual mind is better than many sports,

When one works upon it, like a glove.

 

Why must one write poems, and design,

If those who deem themselves better overlay?

Patience, virtue, and even time,

Everything will get better must I say.

 

In life’s real workings one can believe,

that what truly ails us can be mended.

Going through much pain and suffering,

When one thought consciousness may have ended.

 

Family, friends, passions of the sort,

Lead to happiness, bliss.

The household, the home, those close to us; a fort,

Protect us without a miss.

 

Striving, working, achieving, success,

Those with us give us strength.

When we work, we work our best,

For when we do, we think.

 

Many problems ail the world,

in which I must decry,

Though, through every problem, whiz and whirl,

Fixed through poet eye.

 

Metaphors, hyperboles, idioms,

Are words in which I play.

Similes, personification, per diem,

What can I really say?

 

Even when, I feel left out,

Alone, only with my thoughts,

Writing, drawing, family, friends, no doubt,

Bring security like they ought.

 

Whether it is through art or poetry,

For which that I might say,

It aids in every worldly ailment,

Perfecting every day.