I can speak of longing, of need, and no one knows the name

Of what time impedes, and the playful pronoun game

I can twist my face, my words, and you, sir, cannot heed

The tale of of truth, held fast by fear’s most fiercest greed

And miles

And years

And faults cannot impede

The trial

Held dear

By heart’s most simple speech


About Keats

Oh I'm sassy and I'm sexy, So silly sweet-and-sour Delightfully disastrous And deliciously dour I'm flippantly foolish, Filled I am with fear Can't concentrate completely, and my conduct isn't clear But to bravely be my best I Bring bravado back, BEHOLD!

2 responses »

  1. See theres that truth again. That longing. Not quite a writer without it i think sometimes. But then hey that’s living too, that’s people.

    • Writers and actors, they FEEL first, then make it into art, put it into words others can understand and relate to. I happen to be both, and I respect and (I hope) honor my craft. I’m glad you appreciate the honesty in my work. That’s all most artists want. For someone to look and appreciate while they bare their souls open.

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