"Expressing your feelings
couldn't be called art."

So birthed
Shakespearean Walts —
whose puns crammed nature
into mens' hands
and shadowed doubts
that we are all human.

The need to rhyme
and snort out some lines
demoned great minds
who refused to color
outside the lines.  

Metaphor ran over happiness,
watercoloring lines
in INK.

"A petal is
a woman who fails
when she wilts."

So girls learn to answer,
coyly in high school english,
that everything but petals
are ******* symbols.
No reflection needed,
when nature is a *****.

I met an unknown soldier

                Soldier of thought

     Who made it through the battle

         But his war he still fought

          If he taught me one thing

I can recall without much thought

           For man is only worth

                 Word he's got

      Because true seekers know

        Desire don't mean a lot

       Unless used to manifest

        What once was thought