I am ignorant I suppose

To what most of what other's knows

Whether what's I've written is deemed poetry

Or just the poorest prose

All I know about mine

Is it's inclination to rhyme

While at the same time 

Unburdening my mind

Verses through not pretty

Not written to provoke pity

 Just rashily submitted  

In the hope that so that 

They will serve to remind
 
If you become reclined

To looking below the surface 

You could be surprised at what can resurface
 
Treasure may lie before their eyes 

Roses can grow in the same bed with thorns

That a fact we all know though

Not everyone knows goodness can survive

Even where only evil seems to abide