I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Without a muse, a poet cannot sing An empty jug contains no trace of oil Frustrated are those, nourishment seeking From vessels empty, despite farmers' toil
By D. J. Reddall9 months ago in Poets
Shining Apollo gazed at you with lust Darling daughter of Priam's teeming Troy Bright Phoebus, with a gift, sought your warm trust
Instead of trying To eradicate all threats Learn to be immune
There are texts that cannot sustain frequent rereading No matter who you become, you will find nothing new in them This is the addict's secret folly
A particle one moment, next a wave Who can lucidly define energy? More than, “the power to do work,” we crave Who can make water legible, like thee?
Are great stories made To immunize their readers Against wickedness?
How many dearly Held beliefs are based on a Faulty translation?
Confirmed bachelors Have suffered a betrayal They cannot forget
How strange to envy a dramatic splash To wish that I was lithe and wild like you To imagine your tanned, ecstatic dash And wish that I too could vanish from view
Sparkling cold sweetness Conquering the dog's mouth heat Who's an atheist?
Why do human beings covet gold? Its most astonishing property is ductility Substances that are ductile can be drawn out Beaten or stretched, formed into wires or leaves
Everyone you could possibly become Forlorn observer of the glad bathers Swims before you, hideous or handsome The throng of possibilities gathers
