I Speak Of Poetry Poem by Benjamin Chiu Uy

I Speak of Poetry

I speak of poetry,
Idled breathes of air,
And my existence is obligated,
With knowledges at randoms.

I spin with the wind,
Rolled with the skies of elegance,
My feet stops on these places,
And exposes the blisters of these wounds.

I talk and am never listened,
My interpretations discloses the dead languages,
I robbed from tombs and voices in the air.

You, who are bright and human
With sins and bad habits,
I comemorate our mundane ties.

I myself am without invitations and status,

I come as a stranger, a bad writer,
And seven moons eclipsed and meted out this madness.