One of my poems

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I can hear the sheep all bleating,
hateful looks, all fleeting.
They wish, they want,
they cannot get,
the one true thing they need.

I have heard the preachers praying,
that their jobs are not worth playing,
that they could do with a dime or two,
to find that last liquor drop.

They try to buy their way to paradise,
their broken heart they try to cauterise.
All singing the song that they should have,
the world by a tiny shoestring.

Hugo de Groot 2009

 

Maybe it is the way I look, or the way I act, but people always seem surprised to find out that I actually write, and that sometimes I even go so far as to write poems.  

 

Often, writing is personal, an expression of self, and much like art, writing is ego. Many will exclaim that their writing is just a form of reporting, and has no egocentricity. However, most of them are lying, they write because they want to express themselves. 

I love writing as much as I love drawing or painting; it allows me to confront my fears, make peace with the world, find a solution to a problem, calm the mind and ease stress. I find that writing allows me to enter another world, a place to allow my imagination to run wild, and to place my thoughts.