A Poem is Born

I am borne of pleasure or of pain,
For the mind rambles on, just to stay sane, But when these ramblings are poured onto a page, I come to life and all the world becomes a stage, I’m someone’s acutest and deepest sorrow,
Fears revealed with eloquent words borrowed, Someone’s vulnerabilities bared for all to see, As one risks being fragile for speaking free, I’m distilled from experience and the fruit of labour, Honed artfully, I become something to savour, I am the idle mind’s amusement and busy ones respite, I move some whereas some become contrite, Sometimes I ask questions and provoke thought,
Sometimes I tell tales of the interesting sort, Some say I’m a dying art form, with not much to give, But long as people feel and express, I shall live, I am definitely open to a good play of words,
But I’m best devoid of anything untoward, For words, have the strength to influence thought and action, And those who write often believe in the law of attraction, They are people who believe words to have power, That they can inspire or hurt and turn one sour, Poets themselves remain under their spell eternally, Forever romancing them and giving birth to me!

2 thoughts on “A Poem is Born

  1. Really impressive. Poetry is definitely not a dying art form. May your tribe increase

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