Whetted it is an appetite
consisting of strung words
becoming aligned verse
to rehearse upon the minds
of other men who pretend
to understand its meaning,
or ours for that matter.
It births within the dreamer,
Drives the wanderer's wanderlust,
Is a voice to the unjust-ly hurt
Strength to the burdened mind
A way to find, release from the beast
Before all the people with rhyme,
Or just a flowing rhythm of free
Verse which was birthed forth
By mere experience or fantasy.
Woven words dance, fairly prance
Across pages to weave the tale or drive
The nail, into a deceitful lover's heart
Or... just a humorous lark to entice
A smile all the while imagining
The beginnings of the next writing
Hoping to enlighten at least one soul.
Lady Luna
