The beautiful things,
especially about verse,
is the writers ability to be whomever they choose,
whether they truly are that very soul,
or whether it is someone they aspire to be,
or perhaps they just wish they could be
because they lack the backbone to be who they desire.

No matter the circumstance,
that is what seperates good verse from just words on paper,
the true meaning behind
the lyricists expression.

I will express back bone and boldly state,
Love is what drives a true man to hesitate,
Sell out his pride, and decieve his desires,
Seduce only selflessness, and engulf inner peace.

What truly lies beneath is humbly admitted dark,
and that is the failure of portraying what is truly art,
not determined by others,
but denoted by ones self,
the interpreter of beauty is none other than
the writer.

Darkpoetry whatever you define it as,
can never be made light if you honestly want,
whether dark to you is sorrow or be it hate,
or mayhaps you prefer the anxiety of a wrongly gone date.

So before you are so quick to judge,
let me lay before your feet,
maybe the shadows run darker for you,
but to me I think you're sheep.

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