To WriterscafeA Poem by JustamanFor everyone on WriterscafeLet me show you all what real poetry is, the correct or incorrect way to live or persist. Everything in the universe is subsequently a whim. Sometimes the thick and sometimes the thin. poetry is the beginning to expression and ink from the pen. To show to what end. They dont know what life that we live or what appalling that were in To the end to each hemisphere to each ocean or basin. To each his or her own creation, whether likened to a high leveled rankin or whether quivered in the ether of a postulated, beautified paintin. The true meaning of the feeling of the heart, whether or not the tearing will tear you apart. or whether each part that you write will be aligned quite right or made into art. I know the pain can be uneasy, everyone who pained thee, may have done it easily. but something much harder will leave them that might to you, be pleasing. And i know releasing the emotions isnt at all easy, when your heart gets clogged and your soul gets wheezy. But all you have to do is get a little sleazy with your writing, start citing the rhymes before you get too queezy. Lift off into your spacious zone of comfort, get comforted and get comfortable so you can sort out the problems and port out the depression like sortin out a sedative of words. so you can show everyone ya lesson. On the ground you will lessen everyone or show your writtens at a poetical contest session. But us poets, we aren't restin were just looking for a way to express all of our expressions, underneath the tree or crevice or above the shadows complexion of ourselves forming complexities like an intricately formed perplex-ion. Although timid, our inks blots will still hit the sentence whilst we ink the next devious plot. We aren't sought out to be gods so think and stop. Try and swap your demons for angels, end up losing what you fought for, blood be your brother, darkness be your rot but all that it brought you, was a sharp hearkening in hate, of love, it was not. Swapping each word with a word bank so your mind cant get seismically caught. Theres no need for money in real poetry, no need for the pot, because when we have words that are real, our souls are already bought. On writing from the top and speaking from the bottom The liars we will stop um, the truth got startled and more disposal of thoughts to run so we can emotionally starve um, even while were in autumn; the poets will never stop writin, no naught, never not us. From the compartmentalized heart that i have, I am droppin all that ive got for everyone on Writerscafe, my renegade of love that i hope will never go away. As poets You are me, And I am you We are one, one complete non-individualized crew IN many different segments, like the multiverse but still interconnected, through and through. © 2014 Justaman |
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1 Review Added on January 27, 2014 Last Updated on January 27, 2014 Author
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