The Poet

The Poet​

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He sits quietly near the fireplace in his humble abode​

Scribbling words without boundaries, stories to be told​

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With yellowed paper at hand and an antique pen​

Endless hours of pleasure at times he does spend​

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The riddles he seeks is his life long passion​

Using his poetic talent and literacy of fashion​

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Writting triumphant words in his treasured scripts of art​

His fingers move freely when the desire flows in his heart​

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He empowers a bounty of beauty so graciously free​

God has given him this gift, cant you see​

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He writes words about love in a meaningful verse​

At times his thought patterns, he must rehearse​

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As to honor his Lord in the heavens above​

And to create a poem that the world will love​

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Some day he'll be gone, his life will have perished​

His soul will rejoice with the Lord he has cherished​

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God will have taken him, in his own time​

Yet his poetry lives on with-in this rhyme.​

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JJ DIAMOND​

 

'twas okay. the meter was shaky, on-and-off. the subject was a tad cliche, although you had heart. overall, an okay poem, work on your meter a little, find out what combinations of numbers-of-syllables create what emotions in people. i reccommend Edgar Allan Poe, he's a legendary master of meters, check out The Raven (yes, i know, its so over-exposed now, but its still so awsome ^_^)

'twas just constructive criticism. i dont know about your other poems, but this one was OK at best.

keep writing

-monarch