I received a critique from someone that was not very nice, but Hey its America, and everyone is entitled to their opinion.
But this individual would not leave their name, so I wonder if it was malice, or something else.
This poem is for the invisible critiquer.
Though words may not wing their way
upon the pages we see
They may not have the flow of a river
or even the crash of the surf by the sea
It may not bring tears to your eyes
or laughter to your lips
Yet, they are the words from my mind
being share with those whom exist.
Come walk my path in the words I cast
to taste the flavors you see
Access the meaning of every crack
that is created by spontaneity
For though my word are not sculpted
from my heart they flow free
Though I may critique others
its just and opinion from me
So take not what I say to heart
if you think my words are flawed
But give to me the respect of being
with a name where your conviction are drawn.
w/by Guy Dan Schuyler
In response to a person who thinks numbers matter more than words, I know I am not Wadsworth or Longfellow, but I am me and I write what I feel not what fits.