Sometimes, at times there's a feeling at the bottom most pit
in ones form
why do we compose...
and
expect others to repose,
faith in what one does say,
poetry is just a manner to display,
the nuances of the innermost
depths of one's own conflict,
why upon others our misery
do we have to inflict?

Readers’ minds are as sore
as mine and of course your
of that one ought to be quite sure
yet the emotional surge
pangs of disarray
and
desire to be read
and showered a praise,
exists in every artful one
of that neither you nor I
is an exception...
or are we!