Self Deceit
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I disguise my flaws with flowery words.
My metaphors are grand sublimations.
I hide amidst cloudy skies with the birds.
I don't really marvel at Creation.
I don't want to walk down rain soaked, darkened streets:
Where the light of hope is a sickly moon;
Where love is but a putrid piece of meat;
Where this life is meaningless, endless gloom.
Perhaps, Art is merely pretension;
Cloaked in copious colour & glory.
O it's a deluded kind of ascension
That vainly symbolizes our poetry.
Bu şiiri puanla
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