You accuse me of hiding in my ivory tower.
I answer that I have no power,
Other than my pen
Which when
It scratches
Sometimes catches
The truth of the matter,
Causing the fine porcelain
Of your ideals to shatter,
Revealing the stain
Called human nature.
For each man is a prater
And the writer’s pen
Can interpret the hearts of men.
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K Morris - Poet 
Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.
Many thanks for sharing my poem.
Your work is flabbergasting. I hope you check out my blog too.
Thank you for your kind words. I shall take a look at your blog.