passionpoet2 46M
31 posts
8/3/2005 1:24 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm


Shakespeare once wrote words to the effect that... 'Lovers, Poets and Madmen are of imagination all compact'... Meaning that all three see what they want to see... But it is the Poet who transforms loves' imagery into elasticated scenery, stretching emotions sideways, without the intensity of depth...


Is there no love in a poet's heart?
How does the mighty passion's fall
Never could a world break apart
I hold it strong with no love at all

Romance, a soft touch, deft and deep
Light-hearted, with saddened smile
As I create, no false tears do I weep
Some, perhaps, for a pen-man's style

I cannot love as some might think
No deep-heart empathy for recall
From the cup of others I do drink
For myself, I grow no grapes at all

I tell you all who read this sorry tale
The truth of poets and lovers like me
We the truth of those who wail
From the pain of love's plain insanity

If a sweet woman, should ever I meet
Who treads the steps of a merry love
Then give a caution to the way I greet
This mood of passion, praised above

To me I will let you give your all
But rational mind in me is fast set
See the breast which rise and fall
No feelings from this heart as yet

Thus while she groans, do I store
Those feelings of love expressed
Maggot-like, deep inside I bore
Taking note of all that is the best

I creep my way into a tender soul
Stealing from juices of erotic cry
From passion came the words I stole
Her feelings, impressed for my lie

If ever you read you will know
I love the tale, the romantic pelt
Lovers and poets have little to show
Borrowed emotion, not real felt

Stunted, lonely, no flower can feed
You who know love, feel its worth
Are rich, fertile, happy with seed
But poor love-poet mars the earth

And rears a head among the weed
Don't ever cry or, in faith, pity me
I jape the fool and give hearts’ plead
But the heart is empty, can't you see

Knows only acts of loves transgression.
A knave of hearts, the name's well read
Take care dear of this impression
Look on me, then careful tread

I'll borrow from your passions bled
Leech the pinch and moan the act
Once feelings mine, no words are said
All poets' mood is mine intact!

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