• I'm weary of poets
    Trying to make wonderous
    Things that were
    exactly that
    long before they understood it

    Do not liken love
    to a summers day
    or Hope to
    a featherd thing
    living fraily in cage and rain

    Do not liken


    Let them be!



    Let Fathers

    be Fathers

    Mother's the like



    A smile

    IS

    sunlight on the water

    Kind words

    spoke falsely

    DO

    lead men to murder



    The more you strive to understand

    the less you truly know

    a hundred hundred years

    spent trying to solve

    the riddle of spinning into words

    the universally understood

    and un-relate-able

    simple complexity

    that is the world



    Rain

    Is

    Crystal Rainbows

    Stinging Needles

    Smashing Torrents of sorrow and rage

    and the forgiving heat of embrace



    Let a Son

    Be a Son

    and a sister the like



    That that is is.

    That that is not, is not.

    That that is not, is that that is.

    That is understood

    That it can't be understood

    So why still have we poets?





    Let Leaders

    Be Leaders

    a neighbor the like

    let the deviant among them be known

    and act according to the life he's sown.



    I grow weary

    of men dying

    yet living long afterwords

    of in-nobel actions

    showing great nobility



    Enlightened Stupidity

    a retelling and re-interpretation

    of martyrs

    and fools

    who were just that.

    'Just' justly acknowledging the ignorance

    we took as a reaction to things before their time



    Let them be

    what they be.



    Let Man

    Be as Man has claimed he is

    claim what he is capable of

    and take the next step



    Let poets struggle

    to be overdone

    out done

    by the simple Majesty they try to relate



    Let no man be an island

    even if he can see a distant shore



    But let me be

    simply BE

    so much

    and little more



    I'm weary of poets

    and simply wish they have gratitude

    that even if unwritten

    unread

    or unheard

    their words reach

    disrupt

    and put in place

    unrealised love for simple complex things




    I am weary of Poets

    not knowing they are Poets

    even with the simplest

    un-rhyming words