A great poem detailing the frustrations many poets feel early in their writing lives. I still feel this way occasionally but now at 71 I write for myself, to produce one well crafted poem that says what I wanted to say in the way I wanted to say it.

Can't see the video.

Not that that is necessarily a bad thing. If you don't have a healthy ego the many rejections, often cruel rejections, would drive one crazy.

The moon watched us before There was an “us” But only a creature Barely more alive than slime. It watched us climb Into the place where None of us could float. It watched us learn the creation Of nature’s toys though we were often burned. We learned. Too much of what we learned Was how to abuse, to use our fellow beings. How to warp the souls barely later Than we grew them deep inside. We took more pride in what structures We could make Than in the way we could comfort, love Those who shared a brief time with us Before the final dark.   That spark did grow. And the other evolution did expand But far too slowly for all those we did devour Our hate and need devoured more Than the fire, that first spark, We developed in ages lost to an unrecorded past. Yes, cave graffiti lasts, The artists from the really really past.   Where do we go from here? Will our fear keep us from moving into the post- Evolutionary age. Will we turn the page Do we become, a butterfly from The caterpillars we have been for a million years Or do we rush forward since we will soon control This road we began from slime To a place where there can be no crime Because logic says it doesn’t help us grow. Can we evolve away from the human soul?

The simplest tears do not evolve Upon our faces. They appear as a sudden storm, A brief bout of emptying skies Upon a heavy grey cloth Through which little air can enter our hurting lungs. But then there are the other tears Who whisper over us, A roiling baroque of emotions, Fourth dimensional pain, fractals of pain, Each layer an echoed reflection Of its larger brethren down Down into depths no electron microscope Dare to try and see. And if we are finally free from the bulk of THIS We become a god, See, past, present and future, As clearly as we see The vile necessity That gave us this sight: Crucifixion as the bringer of the light.

A nice piece. I would fix that minor thing, "it's" should be "its".

It works. I love when a poem plays with formatting, spacing. I do it occasionally as a kind of punctuation. But never to the extent you did. In a past life I wrote a play, dealt with actors. Many have egos greater than their talent. Look forward to reading other works of yours.

😊

Thank you! Much better than what some think I'm full of. 😁

Thanks for sharing.

A wonderful poem! It radiates life, something most poems do not.

Thank you! As a poet there is no such thing as appropriate metaphors. I often take the most "inappropriate" metaphors and try to mold them into appropriate. It's a great exercise!

Thanks! 😊

They loved each other there upon A distant moon no one on Earth can see. He gently held her close, She was his reality. He went to kiss her on her soft warm lips. Which wasn’t smart when he heard that hiss…

Isn't that cheating? 🤣

She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. Do we determine who loves us By pulling pedals off the dead? Seems kind of silly to little me But might work as much As what we can try instead!

He makes snow angels In the cold, the bleak, the stark. Does it warm him inside or out Or is it a silent, muffled shout That even here There is a beating, laughing heart? Is it defiance at its core Or do I the reluctant cynic Seek from simple joy Something far more? Or is it indeed far less To think every smile Is an essay test?

Yes, thank you!

Hi! Can you use a new tool?.I haven't been able to see any of these videos on my Kindle or PC. Thanks!

Thanks, the same to you! 🤗