Heartbreaking
How many have broken their hearts,
reading what I have written, as I have
broken mine, reading what others wrote?
My words reach out, naked, stripped
of false trappings, fake images,
my flesh and blood damp on the page.
Who knows where my words will land,
on fertile ground, on desert sand, or will
they lie on dry, stony paths, infertile?
So many people now scorn living words,
preferring those dull dry three-word chants,
fists clenched, or raised, that hypnotize.
Their love of words, thoughts, ideas, life
have been coffined in confining boxes,
cardboard castles, corrugated cans,
that they lock, then throw away the key.
Comment: Thank you Moo for your painting – Words fall like leaves and drift away. It make a fine companion to the poem.
rogermoorepoet 
Amazing
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Thank you for commenting. So glad you liked it and thanks for visiting.
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My pleasure
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Wonderful!
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Thank you. I guess there are two types of artists, maybe three.1 – those who are commercial. 2 – art for art’s sake. 3 – those who express the authenticity of being. Those in the third category are not necessarily appreciated!
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100% truth my friend!
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I am still unable to ‘sell my self” – just can’t do it.
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