I draw a distinct line. Between Infatuation,
and dedication.
With a stick of dignity is where I leave my mark,
In the sands of poetry. Where an ocean of infinite bliss exists.
You can call me crazy...
to a point.
You may be right.
As here I sit and continue to write.
Hardly bored.
As I look for corners to flee, to scribble down another plea!
Am I a worthy of these poems so true?
Better question I ask, if even are you?
Don't take this so hard.
Don't read me in spite.
For if all you read is of darkness, then your just dodging my light.
Treat me so mean, cause all I have seen.
But you cant take away the thoughts and words.
I leave blank and empty between.

© 2013 L.K.Sorrows

Little King of Sorrows

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/survivor-12/