Catharsis

The tree with a thousand branches,

Fell down one night,

And all who looked upon said ruin,

Despaired at the loss,

All but the woodcutter who nodded sagely,

And fished out his whetstone.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you. View all posts by TheHumanAnvil

3 thoughts on “Catharsis”