When thoughts are “Too Raw” to be inked by pen
When lines CANnot capture the now and then
Language is useless, signs are dead
To the inner realities that CAN’t be read.
Poets are writers, they AREn’t saints
Doing with words what painters with paints 🎨
When thoughts on lines become “Too Raw”
Poets are S-inners, where there ISn’t law.
I’d rather paint 🎨 my thoughts than be a saint
Empty old dreams and dream again
I’d rather be for love than be against
Human hypocrisy results in pain.
Like warriors CAN’t live without battles
Thirsty for blood flowing like flood
My thoughts often “Too Raw” to be kept inside
My pen often eager to release the INK.
My world is naked but not ashamed
Yet my “Too Raw” thoughts CANnot be framed
Let me write the way I wish
Like the fisherman’s hook 🎣 holds on to fish.