Poet

I realize that a poet's poetry within a poem is a little trite, but I prefer the term "insipid." It makes me sound smarter.

His writings screamed out loud on the page,

Revealing the beauty and strength of our age;

From tender things that rolled off the tongue,

To the fitful torrents of rage and storm;

He strung up the words meant to be sung,

Or let out the anger that took the words' form.

His writings were not censored nor refined,

Better displaying the best of the mind;

I thirstily took all his work till the dawn -

Musings provoking the things left unseen;

Melodies and lyrics as scenes were drawn,

Like thirst-quenching waters I drank from the stream.

Reviews

[mischeif]

Wow, it's seems musical the way you've written this poem.
i love how some of it rhymes as it's not the usual every line.

[Confidential]

I'll be honest with you, I wasn't too surprised that I actually liked this poem. However, I WAS a bit taken aback by exactly how much I liked it, which is a lot. This is a good- perhaps great- piece for several reasons, the least of which is because it gets its point across and sends just the message it was meant to without calling too much attention to itself. My favorite thing about it, though, was the way the poem flowed. It transitioned from line to line wonderfully, and while the way the words in this piece sound are repetetive, the words and their meanings never get boring or predictable themselves; you always keep up a good flow while moving the poem forward at the same time. Maybe it was by accident, but I doubt it. Good work, good poem.

Respect,
-Confidential