The mind of the poet is hard to elucidate,
he lives not a life of ease.
Pain, suffering, an inexplicable sorrow
drives him to his life’s calling.
And even I must battle the shadow,
the looming fear of nonacceptance.
Tis less likely I shall remain on top
than those of another clan.
How do I describe my pain?
Am I perhaps the unfriendly sort?
Alas, I cry aloud – my mouth will not speak,
so I leave the job to my feathery plume.
And such is the life I lead,
the note pad my best friend.
Though I can’t speak of my shadows,
I use the only way known to let them out.
J.A.Scott
*There are a few of my poems in this list that are very old. This is once of them. This, actually, is one of my first poems. The ultimate goal was to try and write something that didn't rhyme. Even then I was trying to do something different and step outside my comfort zone.
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