You call that poetry
But words are like emotions that don't show
Beauty's disguised in the flow
Of familiar, mundane words though
They fail to make you feel
As deep as the bottom of an unexplored well
A poem has pain and sorrow, a heart to heal
Much more than simple syllables to tell
You call that poetry
But it lacks any kind of surprise
No sparks of newness arise
No metaphors outside of our realms of lies
What's the point of speaking if it doesn't speak of truth
The deep understanding of that dark youthful youth
No surprise or joy in matters of utmost proof
Nothing outrageous, nothing to cause some ruckus
You call that poetry
It's alright, but it's nothing more
No soul in this conversation to explore
No intricate riddles or clever metaphors
The pen has much more to it than meets the eye
It screams truth and feelings of innermost desire
No poetic device will quell its lion's fire
"Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder" do not tire
©jamielong
J