Death Of A Poet
He sits in this room, pen and paper at hand,
Afraid that his poems are nothing but bland.
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Heart felt emotions most of us feel. How ever we still write because writing offers a chance to get out and live even if it is on a paper. You have a lot to live and give.
Brave and wonderful words, I like the fact that you are not afraid to look deep into the emotions of the poets heart. I can't recall the number of poems I've not shared precisely for the same reason; you have expressed the despair very well here, thank you for doing so.
Poetry defines the poet...his/her emotions are wrapped in every verse he/she writes. A beautiful poem with a crust of sadness. Thank you.