Some day I want to be The man in the book Who knew what he wanted And loved what he took With no one to question And no answer to give With no thoughts on living And only to live Some day I want to be The man in the book
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.
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2 thoughts on “The Man in the Book”
Well said. I like the form, it’s similar to a triolet.
THE HUMAN ANVIL 
Well said. I like the form, it’s similar to a triolet.
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Thank you very much 😊 Glad you liked it
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