The half-life of poems

The ancient eavesdropper

Metaphors shed
new light on life,
they restore
vibrant colors
dulled by dust,
adding depth
to our frame
of reference.

Poets are
knee-jerk puppets at
the strings of their words,
ventriloquist voices
thrown to embody
any emotion.

The finesse
of progress
through spoken
word & rhyme,
passing out
pathos to impart
personality on
complacent
populations.

Poem
I could put
you in a tidy
sentence with
punctuation
in all the right
places but
feelings are
best left
unkept
for effect.

Poems cannot
write themselves,
they are an
extension of
our experience,
words awakened
when we need
to come to terms
with our spirit.

Words are so
objective & defined,
yet we manipulate
them for our
subjective
perspective,
constructing
intangible feelings
from alphabets.

What a mountain
of words at my
disposal to pilfer
as I choose,
but there is
strength in
restraint,
I will climb
only those
of use.

Short
breaths,
subtle
heartbeats,

View original post 35 more words

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About tyler4turtles

I am an avid photographer, poet, ecologist, bookworm, blogger, art enthusiast and runner who calls Montana home but lives in Oregon.
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