Poets' Passion

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    Poets' Passion

     Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
    When first we attempt to perceive.
    Sunlit days and starlit nights
    Occur by fate or fancy's flight.
    Dancing thoughts to misconceive,
    Sweet breathy moments of relief,
    Never lingering enough to incite,
    Hidden, swift tastes and touches to excite.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    smalltownteddy’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    Endings 1 07/13/2011
    Poets' Passion 0 07/13/2011
    Singularity 2 06/21/2011
    Run 3 02/23/2010
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