Its strange how poems change before our eyes somehow metaphor into another better being than first we thought
But how or why, i have often wondered never yet concluding, left open to all debate.
The written words seem to blossom and grow have a life of their own devoid of any action on the writers part and somehow something quite different Is born of our imagination
I really like it. Your take on poetry is neat!
I can relate to the first stanza. Most people who aren't crazy for poetry think I'm nuts when I try and get them to understand the metaphors! Well an inside joke for us I guess----
The written words seem to blossom and grow
have a life of their own - Those are my favourite lines in your poem. They are very nicely said (good imagery) and mean so much. A line just seems to get better and better each time we read!
Really well done, added to my favourites!
Words are words are words and what we write makes sense at the time .. but a second view alters meanings, especially in someone else's mind. That's the glory of writing, we share, we compare, we understand or we don't .. most of all though, we learn that expression is an art form without shape.
Amen to that, my friend. I don't know how many times I have started off with an idea and it turns into an entirely different creature once I'm done. But it is always for the better. I think that's why we love it so much. As always, loved the breathless flow of your words.
Dont worry if the sparrow chirps today,
Tomorrow the Nightingale shall sing
Judge me if you will, not on the words of another who may have their own agenda, but as YOU find me, as YOU .. more..