Origins of Ode

Poems do simply come,
from whence I do not know.
Bubbling up, through and from-
my mind’s undertow.

And when they scare me,
or oft declare me,
evil in my own shame,
I wonder then,
if ghouls plunder when
I think myself insane.

For words assail me,
though don’t avail me,
of thought or wonderings.
They simply are,
as from afar,
without my added colorings.

Are they Ghoul’s or God’s,
tempestuous or frauds?
Only time can tell.
The one thing sure,
they’re most obscure,
and probably –
come from hell.

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© 2014 John Allen Richter
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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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