Poems are mosaics, Made of broken pieces of heart, Glued together, With hope and lightning spark, Tied around with simile, Blended and knotted, With metaphors, Beautified with hyperbole, And shaped, Into a rhythm, Letters after words, And words after letters, Onomatopoeia makes, The ear to long for that tiny tickle.
Poems are mosaics, Made of broken pieces of heart, They are words, Having no voice, No matter how true, That Sound it had, So these words, Got inked forever, No matter if There's anyone to listen, Words are reaching the far generation, Mentoring someone's broken heart, From the pieces of someone's, Lost hope and will apart.
Poems are mosaics made of broken pieces of heart . The pieces with unhealed scars And mended cracks , Make a pattern so beautiful that broken pieces Are now an art . Unknown yet This mosaic doesn't Give pain space , Just the bleeding words That pours right from The heart .