Thank you to the 2 people who replied with some information to my query (terradi and Kairi Nightingale).
I really don't think anyone would want to reuse my words anyway, my poem is probably really bad.
When I'm going through a bit of grief I often just put pen to paper and see what comes out. Yesterday I wrote some stuff and for some reason decided I'd like to share it. So here goes, I'll write half of my poem - I don't even know if you'd call it a poem, or what you'd actually call it - call it crap if you think.
I tend to have a thought, mostly deep and meaningful, and try to put it in words, or a sequence, that often comes out in a bit of a corny rhyme. But each line has an underlining meaning, or question; which is the real sustenance of the poem, not really the written words themselves. I hope some one gets it and the words aren't too illusory.
If anyone out there can be bothered to read it and even to let me know what they think about it I'd be happy, no matter what peoples thoughts on it are.
I probably should change the title of the post to 'critique please' or something similar. I'm not sure how to do that, or even if you can. Please advise if you know. Thank you.
Born
The joy we feel
Need to procreate
Such is the warmth
We’re here to create
Feelings so special
With partner of thee
Let’s make, set free
Spirits journey to be
Natures labour
Courtesy of our saviour
Bear gift of light
Such delight
Kick and squirm
Angles lungs burn
That first breath we all bare
Liquid to air
The passage to breath
The spirit create
When did it start
From its fate of late
Brand new
Or just passing through
Seed of evolution
Or karma revolution
Religions dictate
Or try to decipher
The miracle that lands
Who dealt the hand
God is there
Or simply a spirit laid bare
Either way
Purity is in the hay
So why the need to propagate
A child rate
Its will is to decide
Its own fate
Prejudice is not born
Has no ideology sworn
How does it creep into our state, make us hate
Drop bombs of late
Is it we’re here
A short passage in time
Or the journey continuous
Enlightenment thine
Budda, Shiva, Mohammad, JC
Can you see them squabbling up high
Like us at the sea
I don’t think we carried out their recordings like meant to be
Should a story we cannot confirm
Make us judge another we consider infirm
Why we always torn
Feel the need for scorn
We’ve been given the gift in our hand
Like trying to hold sand
Through our fingers we let slip
The beauty we all can grip
.............................................................
Cheers, m