THE VOICES

And the voices escalated, from hushed murmurs to blooming voices, poets' canvas marked by life's rugged path, they lie in words, they create reality out of fantasy, with verses woven with silver threads of deceits. Poets' faces that could stop a clock, they lie in lines, they paint their outlook with sweet verses, they cloak their essence with sugared words, but meet them, Gorillas on the loose. Like a spark in dry timber, voices flared into a blazing storm, poets, the Dreamweavers of the human soul, who use poetry to indulge in self-absorption, they lost themselves in the labyrinths of their own words. Poets who paint the sky beautiful with words and verse, but live in a city of shadow and decay, where chaos and clutter reign. But the voices went on, poets, so indolent, immersed in papers and pen, lost in a parchment world, where life's chores fade away. Poets, no attention for the apple of their eyes, the voices never ceased to speak of the poet, but as the voices squabble, the poet wrote and wrote. #Kiprooo