Picasso Poem:
There is always someone there
Someone hiding within
My lesser self
My lesser half
There is always something missing
One thing that got away
The thing I never had
The thing I’ll never say
Resting in my armchair
Just trying to forget
Always feeling broken
My needs are rarely met
On the surface I am one
Another lies just under
Just under is what you can’t see
Just under is the real me
Deformed, misshapen
I am so incomplete
Finding you inside myself
Always makes me weep.
What happens to the cherry blossoms?
What happens to the Cherry Blossoms bloom?
The pink leaves up high,
gracing the city streets.
So quickly turning brown,
meeting doom.
The white snow melts
as jackets are lost.
Warm winds hint in the air
Goodbye my frost.
Pink is the new grey
For what seems like
Only one day
It all goes green
In a flash.
What is Poetry?
Reading a poem is
admiring art.
Scanning the page
Like the halls of a museum.
Choosing your favorite
Words, passages, pieces.
Which one moves you
colors, textures, materials.
Loosing yourself,
Endlessly
Finding yourself.
Poetry, like the library
Of songs
Floating around my head
Makes me feel.
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