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»The Poet«

by Abdul Milazi, January 9, 2009

I touch the modern tablet of ancient forms
and am lifted to the heavens like the mountains of thoughts
I smell the potent ink of poems feeding my quill
as I make a mark on pages of love
and mystery of being

I fall off literary cliffs
of words which echo my pain
my soul flayed by the passing winter winds
my screams take a tormented flight
across the plains of life
only to die silently like autumn leaves
where the morning breeze scatter flakes of pain and dried petals
of a withered love

the sun always comes back
bringing the joys of songbirds
humming brooks and silent streams
a watercolour of living beauty
distant literary voices caress the lips of my thoughts
and become the accent of my passions

Written: January 1998
Tags: Crazy

The © Copyright to this poem is owned by the author.
Published by writerslounge.net on January 9, 2009 under courtesy of the author.

Reader comments

"dear random person. these are but musings of a poet, exploring the pleasure and pain of writing poetry"
Abdul Milazi, Apr 11, 2009
"i have to analyze this poem for english class and its really hard."
random person, Mar 14, 2009

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