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Passion and Pain
by JJ JohnsonThey're not just some words to be stolen
But the meter beating within my heart
On the pages of my passion
Spilled while the wounds were still left open
In black and white and deepest red bled the colors of my art
So it's not surprising you can't understand
Your claim upon my imagery is creative thievery
While your slight of hand reveals your warped dishonesty
You shout imitation is the sincerest form of flattery
But if that is true why wear a mask to conceal your robbery
It's not enough to later say you admire my painted words
Writing means much more to me than flushing defecated words
They are all I have experienced in passion and in pain
They are everything that healed my mind and all that kept me sane
We may share all of our feelings in similar shades of ink
But my poems ownership still belongs to me
Yet through all of that you can still borrow my verse
Each time you read my poetry 08/10/2014 Posted on 08/10/2014
Copyright © 2026 JJ Johnson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 08/10/14 at 06:37 PM If a thing is stolen the hand must be cut off. If it be words that are stolen then the tongue must go. Ideas may prompt one's mind to spring to similar or even distant thoughts but sometimes it seems all to easy to forget on the surface from where those same words that spring through the writing hand and we think they are ours alone. |
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