my poems sucks

  Beggarly in relating to the mundane Hiding the spits of utter hideousness  Waiting for the mind to wenden insane Waiting for the raid of merciless Before the demands of a degree of lunacy Arrives at the fringe of wit Hand a little fate of succour Before what's glowing stops to lit Perceive the damned and the damaged Discern to what's been pour Gaze to the ones who's been mismanaged Glance to the blood and gore Terrestrial in forsaken Living in definite solitary My oh my for the mistaken Benevolence and hostility With much vehemence gobbled up inside Await for it to detonate Own knowledge for what to abide Cumulate the ones who reciprocate   - wolf

Who am I? What am I? Why am I? Is it worth it? Worth it is it? It worth is it? Am I wrong? Am I right? Am I anything in sight? Like a wounded reindeer they cull the herd With a broken wing I am that bird Spitting retaliatory girds So much to say too many words Too much to do so little time All that is spoken are filled with grime Being deceitful is my crime  All these terms I tried to rhyme Sometimes its white sometimes its cloudy Sometimes its light sometimes its heavy Here I am failing miserably Trying to find my identity   - wolf

Mediator Isolated In seek of ones own value Judged unintended In searching for a better view Dreamers Is what's been called To these visionaries Explorer of ideas For the ones who are wilting We know what we are but know not what we may be  " All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost The old that is strong does not wither Deep roots are not reached by the frost "                                     - J.R.R Tolkien   - wolf