Poets Lie?

 

 

 

Poet’s lie!?

 

Then what am I?

Do I embellish life?

Accentuate movements

Make them brighter

Or bolder

Add spice and flavor

I wonder

Does pen slip in not truths

And shift reality

Into something comely

Into something that hides scars

And deliquesce imperfections

And if this is my fault

Am I guilty of treason

Because I paint harmony

Over discord?

Am I paltering because my verse

Paints wings on hearts

So that they can fly with me?

Is that so capricious?

Maybe I am a liar

 Because I chose to live

Above the dismal

And when love enters my being

I allow myself to be consumed

And beauty engulfs my pen

And should that be considered fallible

Because I write dreams that will be reality

For some even if not for me

Yeah poets lie

And some are like train wrecks

With pens wreaking havoc

On weakened souls looking to be

Appreciated or cared for

But when I scribe it is my soul’s truth

It is the music that whispers

In late night meadows

It is the stars aligned

To make Orion’s belt

And the Big Dipper

Pouring into the Little Dipper

And it is sonnets and prose

That makes Shakespeare wake from hollow grave

Because he feels the truth

And in love he sees no alteration that should bend pen

And make heart thoughts erroneous

So if being a poet

Means being a liar

Then find me guilty

And sentence me to death

Because what I write I speak

What I speak I live

I speak the way my pen bleeds

Our voice is one

And no lies form on the tip of my tongue

Because it has been dipped in love

And when I write

Even when it is of what it is to come

It is all real

'my pen scribes purer  truths

than tongue has ever tasted

because my pen has no fear

just a need

2 purge heart

and follow my soul's lead.

 

 

Reviews

[The Silent Butterfly]

I really enjoyed this. I never thought of being a poet like this before. This was very well written. Well done. :)