Poets' Hearts Are Bitterly Proud
M
Mark Heathcote
0
Altın Yaprak
If only I could control my anger
Turn it from a volcanic ash cloud
Of simmering hot water vapour
From a furry, a rage to a whimper
But poets' hearts are bitterly proud
They reside each under a thundercloud.
Hoping, praying for rain, for a rainbow
Arching, palms to palms like a halo.
A lightning bolt that's some charged words
Something hovering, with hummingbirds.
If only I could control my passion
Fasten it down with more dispassion.
But poets' hearts are tempered, annealed
It takes years for them to bend and yield.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş