Why strain your pen with pieces so novel and intricate.....?
Belittling natural nectar that charms souls to communicate?
Why sketch your portraits using others as a template....?
Not digging your soul for pictures all crave to contemplate?
Why remove your virgin hat fearing you'll be judged..?
Isn't poetry a free dance whose members are self-charged?
Why fear scalpels of fierce poetic surgeons...?
Isn't poetry spiritual and sacred as pigeons?
Why wrestle with timed-desire, tire, perspire and soon expire?
Isn't poetry an inspiration, a passion, a burning fire, with no retire?