-selfmade

The poet's words

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Where syllables are in new form
mentally re-poured.
How fashion creates the new norm,
poetry creates new perspectives for you 😊.

All being can fill a line.
Every crumb shape is perfect.
Space with red pills,
sends us the true message.

The poet's words never fade,
only the voices can die away.
It is not read by everyone
only where neurons are still glowing.

Remember the beautiful texts
which shapes all imagination.
He who constructs deep verses
whoever spilled the stanzas
dabs time and studied
the deep radiance unabashedly,
A word structure the bewitched.

Oh joy from the golden pen
insatiable desire
found your sweet poison
now I don't worry anymore,
On the beaches of my lust
Creation flows from my chest.
Period and comma unconsciously,
trapped in nowhere.

I love to give verses and often
so the day stays bright for me.
that forging verses is a ladder.
I climb up and look further.

On and on and I see
there in the fog a crow
a ghost in the haze of the night.
Ignited my creation.
Flies through space, infinite time
The verses smoke past.

But the poets are always here
as long as you read the lines.
Poets form a trellis
and fight against evil beast.
His name is "pure stupidity"
like marionettes on a string.
A puppet and his master on the handle
Theater atmosphere on the ship.

It sinks and goes to the bottom of the Sea.
The blood is getting blacker than ever.
The sense of some strange lines
carries the power in the signature,
to heal so much ad hoc.
By the candlelight, the torch is lit.

Firestorm soon it will burn
the spirit shall blaze in flames.
It sounds the alarm we have to run.
You shall ram with force,
the Sword in to the beast's heart.

The poet glued the word
like a spider weaves threads.
The verse dies away and has become
and may have enlivened the brain.

© by Rob de Roy

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