And they said they wanted to write
My poems for me
And chew my black tobacco
And drink my honey tea
But friend O my friend
My words are mine alone
Though yours may taste much sweeter
Their seeds to me are as stone
So leave me be, let me see
The world with my bit of error
And write with a trembling hand
All that I feel of terror
And be true as a single-faced coin
And roll in a scentless sea
And come as a corpse on the other side
Dead and yet so free…
Like this:
Like Loading...
Author: TheHumanAnvil
I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.
View all posts by TheHumanAnvil
THE HUMAN ANVIL 
This is too real in life, It is better to be real, good work sir
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for the compliment and insight, dear friend. Glad you liked it😊
LikeLike
Excellently observed 👏👏👏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you ☺️ Glad as always for your support 🙏
LikeLike
You are as ever most welcome
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you friend 😊 Glad you liked it 🙏🙏
LikeLike
It’s a pleasure
LikeLiked by 1 person
Deliciously evocative poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much for the compliment 😊… Glad you enjoyed it, my friend
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re most welcome.
LikeLiked by 1 person