Poetry is the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty in Words

I saw your heart in the shadows
The leaves, damp and dry
and noiseless
Trying to dream
In this substitute chamber 
Wanting quiet.
You gave it 

I breathed a whispered question
Your reddish, fluid flesh
Yet awakened.
To all you ever gave it
Sighing sad. 
It really wanted 


This is my attempt as a rank amateur. I now know why great poetry, like great art and delicious steak, is rare.

1 Comment

  1. There once was a lady from Nantucket
    Who stuck her head in a bucket
    No matter how hard she tried
    Or how long cried
    She couldn’t get un-stucked

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

© 2020 The Forthright One

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑

%d bloggers like this: