And if even “The Greats” were just mere regular,
idiosyncratic – day to day observers of society;
Loud muses that mused nonsense – out of boredom,
stress relief, simple idiotic entertainment –
What of me then? My so called art – ponderings
of a directionless point becoming less with each …
*Sigh* … It’s insane enough I talk out loud to myself,
God help me when I actually take time to write down
the humble mumblings of my inner muse.
I’m easily amused, taking advantage of space and time,
making rhymes – poetry is as poetry does, line for line.
Poetry is like life – random and chaotic,
occasionally coming together beautifully in wondrous ways.
Poetry is life.
The best lines obtained through years of disillusionment and pain.
The never ending struggle to fight; Finnish the race!
The journey, discovery and utilization of what it means to not just live – but to actually feel connected to your being;
That is living.
… That is poetry…