Verses In Solitude
Verses In Solitude A verse is nothing more than a verse, when shaded from skies. What intention one gives it is no matter if he, the care taker of the verse allows no planting of such verses he has written. If a poet is to shelter his dominion what is the existence of his words? If not nothing more than a string of letters crumbled together in a symmetrical and orderly fashion. Are words meaningful if not shared with the wallowing eyes of others? Are they heard, like the tree that fell in the woods? Even if one is to write for himself and himself alone, in the confines of his chambers, do the words truly heal? Or is it upon the rationing of these words to others that bring meaning, that bring healing? For, if no other is present to see a poets transformation from his dull living space, to something of the utmost prestigious growth one can have from words. Has he truly grown, or is he still who he was before his thoughtful verses? For if no other sees him, from what he once ...