You are
You are the sty in my eye,
the pain in my side.
You are the headache in my head,
and the doubt in my life.
You are NOT the fox that hides the truth,
nor are you a shy child that is afraid to speak.
You are not the damsel in distressed
And you are not poison to me.
Because I AM the Buddhist monk that is enlightened
I am the quiet library.
I am the hooting owl on the tree
I am the pages in the books
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.