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BECAUSE WE CANNOT SEE

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Image result for pyramus and thisbe"

Because we cannot see

Words lying, poetry

Is impossible. Words are so good

At deception, poets, who would

Make you deceived,

Are never, themselves, believed.

The cunning it takes

To sweetly and obviously lie, makes

Poetry, poetry. But how can the poet lie

When words themselves deceive our ear and eye?

How can the poet fool

The frowning teacher in the school?

How can the poet deceive

The prose of life which makes us laugh and grieve?

I’ve been reading my old love’s poetry

For hours. I cannot see

One word meant for me.

I hear words. Not the poet. Not poetry.

This is why my muse seeks fame

Crying loudly hers, and my, name.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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