To The ReaderMature

I let my muse take over. This is what happened. Don't expect it to make sense, but this is to my critics.

It takes my heart and rips it in two

Some see it while others lose the view

If I had one regret

It’d be listening to what my critic said

 

All my life out of my hands

My life became a viewpoint for others

Chance he says what I want to hear all over again

Where is your sense of reason?

 

We live in a world of chaos

That is brought together by us

Yet we expect verses like map directions.

Foolish

 

I’m a writer from Wilde’s eye

If I ever create a completed work I will

Rejoyce in my victory

And the future is bright when all fears realign

Heretics at heart searching for their lost glory

 

Don’t you see that popular poetry is nothing but lies

Being fed to you for you to say that its fantastic?

If it doesn’t make sense to you it doesn’t have to

 

All my life out of my hands

My life became a viewpoint for others

Chance he says what I want to hear all over again

Where is your sense of reason?

 

The hideous heart brought me back from my death ever so fantastic

This Autumn rain falls upon me

My love’s ghost in the fog

I see her no more

 

If you read these lines

Remember not the hand that wrote them

Remember the verse, the poet’s requiem

To wish, to hold to love

I wish I didn’t value your opinion so much though

 

I’ve given this its strength, and it has become my only strength

To ignore those who misunderstand me

Take comfort in these words child

Your beauty is from within the words you write

Not what they wish you did.

And although I may never impress them

I’m writing what my God tells me

 

 These simple words guiding my life

The End

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