The sorrows of the world bite our souls.
The daily grind makes us like moles
We don’t see the light
when we work through the night.
All we see are the flames from hell’s coals

1.
Words are like beads on a chain

Alone they can’t take any strain.

But joined up in gold

A sentence can mold

A prayer is repeated again.

2

Words cluster in larger groups

Waiting for writers to stoop..

Then instead of one word

A sentence is heard,

Some call this poetry soup.

3.

Professors do not create words,

which from the unconscious are lured

They only critique

What you and I speak.

After conversing and writing,that’s third.