Pretentious Poetry

Aiming high,
With big boots

Too big to drag across the poetic chess floor,

Never read the greats 
Never loved and lost like the great lovers 
Never forged the mind in tempered steel 
No resolve,

No other inkling than pride for scorn 

Yet it was this morn, 
Eyes read with a fresh dawn 
The braking newness of creation
Art as poetry 
And fluked it no more than a precise preponderance
As each word chose itself its order 
And a profound truth was embellished 
With the love and care of a depth of many aeons 
Pared back into a child’s innocent eyes 
Reflecting providence, grace and wise
With a goodly turn of genius 
That left the mind searching 
And words begged of

in hopes they would lay more
Yet none were needed

And never did a loving envy grow so warm in its light

Author's Notes/Comments: 

sometimes it just...

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word_man's picture

i enjoyed this write

i enjoyed this write

allets's picture

Calm Write

Mello tone - slc


 

 

eleven_eleven's picture

<3 yes <3

<3 yes <3

SSmoothie's picture

I often think the last stanza

I often think the last stanza about your poems when I read them :) 11:11 


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