Free verse № 123547
the Dreamer
He just sits in his dark, grey room now, lost in himself,
In his thoughts
Is it a form of escape, from the grappling hands of fate?
In deception he lies,
For he is a dreamer
He dreams.
Of playing all the pieces of Life’s repertoire,
There always doesn’t seem to be enough time.
Will he ever act?
Walking with shuffling feet down the sheltered halls,
Throwing it all away in reckless abandon
He has time to kill,
Or will time be the death of him?
4 comments
If you're going to say, no poetry isn't like that it's spur-of-the-moment and emotional - well, then you'd be wrong. Most well-liked poets spend a lot of time and energy making their poems look like they didn't take a lot of time or energy.
Anyway, one thing you should think about while writing a poem is that IF YOU'VE EVER HEARD anything like what you're thinking about writing, don't write it. Write about something different. I'm not trying to dis. I know what it's like to be fifteen and starting to write poetry. This is what I wish someone had said to me back then.
It's a decent start, and as someone wise on here said to me, not necessarily in these exact words, be unto yourself true. If you like your poetry that's the most important thing - unless of course you harbour dreams of getting them published. Then you have to pander to the masses. 7
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