Poets only write when they're emo Find me a poet Who says otherwise And I shall denounce him as a liar on the spot Mood makes for great revelations The higher the peaks, the harder the falls Whatever the emotional wave be When the soul is close to the fire, then the words burn to be released. The ink flows madly When chasing love, or mending hate When jealousy eats like acid or envy flashes her liquid green eyes How easily it all pours forth. Pushing your limits hours sleepless the emotional gates opened You pillage and plunder rummaging through the depths of your memories your spirit your loves and your losses every fiber of your being For the words to shout to rhyme to curse to infuse your soul into so that any reader that stumbles upon your aftermath can recognize, relate and commend 100 percent. When the waters are calm our lives unstressed Who writes? Tepid, lukewarm, apathetic, indifferent The days when one foot in front of the other Leads to writing paths dull and dry The calm before the storm of a poet's fury. Moments of sanity, true and yet..... Poets only write when they're emo Find me a poet Who says otherwise And I shall shake his hand possibly envy him But I won't read his work.
I used to be a fount
A source from which flowed the finest of prose
A never-ending flow of vivid imagery
Used to be
My spring has been the quiet drip-drip-drip of a well running dry
Has my pen lost its edge
This well-springed source seemingly has been sprung
As if someone tapped in and pulled it all in another direction.
What happened to the inner poet within me?