For Who Am I Writing My Poetry?: A Poem
Leaving my heart's fingerprint in a poetic disguise
within each and every rhyme and unveiling verse
am I gently cuddling, or raping the reader's eyes
as all those tastes are so unpredictably diverse.
Can my sentiment make a safe touchdown
onto terrain maybe treacherous or smooth
or am I just sounding like a pathetic clown
my poem irritating while aiming to soothe.
As I mention love, what love means to you
maybe you got burnt, becoming a cynic
love poetry leaving but an insane clue
with a poet ready for a mental clinic.
What are chances of touching your heart
with something that's roaring loud in mine
and what's your formula of appearing smart
that I should follow, so our minds could align.
It's like performing autopsy on my Muse
this trying to figure out why my verses stink
it's life -- with some you win, with some you lose
resurrecting a Muse won't change what others think.
At times it seems it's just me I'm writing for
while fishing in the dark for an alike soul
but this I know at my savvy heart's core
that is way beyond my wishful control.