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No poetry can save
The poetry that is going
Into the brain of the poet;
In poetry there is too much knowing.
Outside it’s raining; inside it’s snowing.
No poetry can save
The poetry that is going
Into the brain of the poet.
In poetry there is too much knowing.
When I was young, I was brave.
I only wrote verses when I gave
Verses to someone knowing
I loved. I wasn’t going.
Blood has been known to stain the wave.
Poetry cannot save
Though old age rave,
Reformers change the grave,
Or charity says how much it gave.
No poetry can save
The poetry that is going
Into the eye of the brain.
In poetry there is too much knowing.
The landscape’s dry. The art is showing.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
