If i could i would
steal all the things
the world doesn't need
and write them into poetry.
an unwanted child
an orphan annie
will feel right at home
with a lost soul like me
and victims of disdain
the unlike other kind
will realise i am good
once i make up my mind
the bird with a broken beak
the woman from a broken home
will find i am broken too
and shelter in my poem
and shall we talk
of books well written
that no one seems to want
i take them in and enjoy
their beauty and their old fashioned
font
the desolate man
on a snow-filled peak
finds pleasure in my words’ embrace
he thinks i am his as he reads
there’s no hurry no race
the world keeps looking for ways to
discard
the things it thinks it doesn’t need
but for them i ache
and they don't disappoint
despite my indecent greed.
2 comments:
the world doesn't need
and write them into poetry.
Everything else should lapse into poetry... :)
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