Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Play at the poet, 
pretending to know. 
Just how these lines grow. 
Yet, with all your knowledge, 
You lack feeling. 

Here where poet is a title,
Not something you give life too. 
Be not a player in a worldly game. 
I do this not for fortune or fame. 

Nightmares, horrendous memories, 
I do this to tame. 
Leave perceptions at the door, 
they have no place here, anymore. 
Writing is a relief, for me. 
be not a thief to me. 

Pretending to enjoy, 
what from my soul has been poured. 
To pick apart every word, 
Every byline, 
to relieve your wasted time. 

Perceptions have no place,
Where expectations are lost. 
Here where a soul writes, 
To relieve the pain of yesterday's cost.