Poem of the Non-Poet

Poem of the Non-Poet

April 26, 2007

I maybe condemned guilty,

for breaking the words’ rules.

Coz I’m not a son of poems and lyrics.

And literature despised me.

I write and I admire words.

Never came to criticized.

But why poets can’t write in simplicity?

Why let thoughts be buried between lines?

Lines where words are too deep, too broad,

Yet simply painful and so true!

I guessed that’s why it’s called art.

The thing I adored.

I maybe ignorant,

And I’m easy to be fooled.

Coz words are my greatest enemies.

And yet they are my ever loyal friends.

They were played by those skillful hands.

To build a masterpiece of lust!

Where truths held by mistrust,

And are guarded by lies!

I am easily tricked.

When letters turn to words:

But by chances and by luck,

I can dissect fictitious truth,

From disdainful facts:

I am the truth…yes.

And the lie!

When I scribbled my pen,

Many rules are to be broken.

The rules of lines and measures,

The codes of rhyme and rhythm:

But some I kept though,

Burying life to every crypted word,

And to only those I shared the key.

Can see the life within me:

There’s love between lines,

And the art in me!

Love misspelled.

Life’s sentences I’ve wronged.

Let my poor spelling be the spell.

And let my grammar to be forgiven.

If you did, then maybe,

I’m a poet indeed.