Poetry

Poetry, Cinderella, love of my dreams
Simply, my fella' , not what it seems

On a wooden desk lies a pen
used and carved by the artist's hand
Near on a bench, languishes a man
who moves that pen like a wizard's wand

Words appear, coming alive
Acting a play, dancing a song
Like a woman waiting for you to arrive
Monument of the heart so read along

Looks a shade but is light
when one states aloud
the suffering soul's fight
oh maddening thoughts cloud

Poetry, Cinderella, love of my dreams
Simply, my fella' , not what it seems

We are poets, they claim
As if beauty were their own
Blasphemy, what a shame
those are nothing all alone

Should I bother? I know not
Whether to show or quiet me
How these men and all their lot
Stole people the one way to see

"The sky is not blue"
"By the way, bad is not bad"
And so I tell you
Cinderella, i'm just sad

Poetry, Cinderella, love of my dreams
Simply, my fella' , not what it seems