Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Molded Mime


They sputter the few words they've learned. 
That fuse together written words. 
Yet they know nothing of what they mean.
None of it resembles what they've seen. 

Molded into puppets of learned rhyme.
Forgotten are the verses that last through time. 
Lost are these things that poet and piece did bind. 
In this world where vision is so cold. 
They find themselves oh so bold. 

To spin and weave these letters with ease. 
Though they know not what they mean. 
One must have a purpose in order to write. 
or tis written in pure spite. 

To fuse one's heart and soul into poems, 
cannot be learned in books. 
It's a gift given etched upon stones. 
In a world that will delete their being, 
these few words will always be seen. 

Do not presume to know one's mind, 
as if you've live their daily life. 
You'd have long since died. 
Had you been forced to walk in mine? 
You'd never make it within this time.