Well, here it is. Last poem. Definately last poem. Thanks, to you who stuck around.
Poems
Poems are things that
You can write on the spot or
They take a decade to create.
But poems of poems are
Odd ideas indeed,
It makes one doubt one's own
Sanity.
But Poems of poems,
They let you dwell on,
The nature of poems
Poems you write for things such as
Hope or
Sorrow or
Pain or,
Light or
Dark or
Freedom or
Something that you need
To let your feelings
Into.
Something you need
To let
The world
Know
About in
An odd, strange way.
Poems are a way
Of saying things
Subtly.
Poems are ways to
Tell the world
Your views.
Poems are things
Of grace,
And beauty,
And thoughts
And dreams,
And Life,
And hopes,
And struggles,
And reality,
And the cruelty
Of the world,
Of Mossflower,
Of all lands beyond.
That is the world.
Poems are,
A strange,
Mystifying thing.
You can never find
The true definition
Of poem,
Completely.
Because some part of it,
Some exquisite,
Beautiful,
Rare part of it,
Stays hidden behind
Thick fog,
Or mist.
Poems are things
That you can never grasp the whole
Meaning of.
You never know what exactly
Lurks behind that veil
Of mystery
And shelter.
But you know
That something
Terrifyingly beautiful
Is there.
Because who knows what all
A poem
Is.
Poems, for the
Most part,
Are dreams,
Hopes,
Lives,
And struggles,
Coming into the light
And being recognized.
Poems.