by Peter Harris

Created on: April 05, 2010   Last Updated: April 06, 2010

Ballads of the heart.

The art, the form, structure and stanzas,

Where tone, pitch, assonance matters,

The mood, the flow, the technical bits,

Metre, rhyme, where do they fit?

On the page are my words,

My soul indignation,

Syllables strong, sound alliteration,

But can you hear my heart?

I pour forth my pain, my hopes and my fears,

Experience of a lifetime,

Moulded through years

Of dreams and nations and greatness and yearning,

Honing my craft, whilst my emotions keep churning

Inside to a rhythm, I alone understand,

The beat goes unnoticed by every woman, every man.

Time the great healer, too shy to glance,

Towards me, the poet, words…

My solace, my eternal mask.

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