The Pretense of Poetry

Pretense of Poetry 1

The Pretense of Poetry

So…
Does one just come out and say it –
Confess in the very first paragraph
That he has nothing of value to post?
No prose
No rhyme
No words of wisdom
To share with those
Who have come to understand
His un-normal-ness
His often incoherent blathering
Of words
Of verses
Left lingering tween the lines
Of insanity –
The delusional
Psychotic
Unbalanced mind
On parchment
Under the pretense of
Poetry

While there are those
That would presume
His poetic hand
Scribes
Nothing more than
Simple twaddle
There are the others –
Those who sense
The truth
Between the lines
The subtleties
Of life
Of love
That linger in the rhyme

So…
Does one just come out and say it –
Confess in the very last paragraph
That he has nothing of value to post
No prose
No rhyme
No words of wisdom
To share with those
Who have come
To understand
At least
Some
Of his peculiarities
Scribed
From a tormented mind
With the innocence

Of wisdom
That makes one smile –
That brings a single tear
To fall upon the parchment –
To cause one’s mind
To open
To the hues
Of different shades –
To help one to perceive
That sometimes –
There are no rhymes
That shine their light
Upon our understanding –
For understanding
Often comes
From incoherent blathering
Of words
Of verses
To those who sense
The truth
Between the lines –
By those
Who think they have
Nothing of value to post –
Perhaps nothing more
Than simple twaddle
Left lingering tween the lines
Of insanity-
Under the pretense
Of poetry

Michael33

10 thoughts on “The Pretense of Poetry

  1. Outstanding post, dear friend. How much I could relate to what you are portraying here because many times I have written thinking that it was not much of anything. Yet you and I both know the truth that is hidden in between the lines and within the words themselves. Beautiful, beautiful just beautiful! 👏👏👏

    Like

  2. Pingback: Pausing to Ponder | Vision of Hope 33

  3. True insanity is so imperfectly understood.
    It is pretty much like if you truly have it,
    you aren’t going to talk about it,
    even in a poem.
    I wonder why people,
    make so many assumptions,
    about the insane.
    But I know,
    it is because,
    they,
    the “insane,”
    are not good,
    at speaking up,
    for themselves.
    Afterall,
    who would
    really listen?
    People might,
    get disturbed,
    and realize,
    the insane,
    are just better,
    versions,
    of themselves.
    And few people,
    want to know,
    that,
    about themselves.

    Your poetry,
    is brilliant.

    Like

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