Protestants

in poetry •  7 years ago  (edited)

I can light a bulb,
From the friction created,
By the eraser rubbed against the pages,
For a thousand times or more.
Imagination chopped off,
Like a pencil shaved,
In the process of sharpening,
Because perfection is what's craved.
The pen trys to portray,
What the mind screams
But the ink calligraphs,
Only what's want to be seen.
Feelings protest,
In the court of the heart,
Asking for enhancement
In the words and the art..

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Hey Very nice Piece :) Thanks for sharing this with us. I think you have got some talent. Keep on writing. Welcome to our group. :) God Bless You. Peace and Love.

Thanks for the love and appreciation! Glad that I got to know poets like you (:

I loved the poem. I could get the sense of dissatisfaction by imperfection when you the erased rubbed the pages a thousand times. great write!

I love how active and appreciating you are. Thanks for the feedback! (:

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