The nature of reality
Is not what flows through poetry.
A poem sings of fantasy,
In search of synchronicity.

Reality does not belong,
It can’t be wrapped up in a song.
It gives no comfort to the throng,
It's contributions are all wrong!

And so we write of singing frogs,
That make their homes in hollow logs.
We write of butterflies and dogs,
Who frolic in the fields and bogs.

We write a romantic refrain,
Of paddle boats along the Seine,
Erotic moments on a train,
Or long slow kisses in the rain.

Whimsy is the lyrical way,
Imagination on display.
We shape our words like sculpted clay,
And paint our scenes like Claude Monet.

And poetry is what we choose,
A melody that shapes our views,
We can’t feel reality’s bruise,
When we escape into our muse.

And we find synchronicity,
Within the poem’s fantasy.
There’s freedom in the poetry,
And THAT is our reality.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Mark Spencer

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.