There is no more poetry;

It is all but the same;

Most lyric i hear today is a lie...

No longer brightens up my day;



.
.


What is Grandiose comparison? Or simile in prose?

You find nothing in the art of the muse;

the sing-song words? disgrace to all the great writers;

And all else who sincerely compose;

.
.

So what is left for the songs of sweetest love?;

Where do we find originality? In honied hearts? the skies above?

.
.

This day we're all fickle...

Our words ne'er hit true;

Why cant this heart feel again?

Why cant i discover it anew?

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/26/2011 03:35PM by Fickledlife.