Seeds of Language--a Poem

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This is the second poem I did. Written it today. I'm not adept at poems yet since I hardly write them. It might not be good, but hey, The whole point is to improve, right? Please comment as I need to improve on my writing skills. Even an encouragement is welcome.

Seeds of Language

Writing--God's gift.
The fruit of language.
Making human hearts grow
into the gift of life.
Sow the seeds of language, children of God.

Yet the Tree of Knowledge
tainted human hearts
and thus tainted language as well.
Oh, why must Adam eat the fruit?
Must we, his descendents, suffer as well?

But what's this I see?
A lion digging its fangs on impurity?
"Language is forever tainted," it says,
"But you writers of Life are hope."
Bear the fruit and produce, children of God.

Nice poem.
I have written quite a bit of poetry. Here's my take on the same idea.

THE LETTERS AND THE WORDS

Someone has written
That letters lie on the page
Like small black dead things,
Or, perhaps asleep. The rage
Or joy that gives words wings
Requires they be infused,
That they be smitten with a thought
Make them enthused
That their stiff legs
Would wiggle in delight
To taste the sauce of mind.
They must become the pegs
Hammered into the wall of night
That it be cracked so dreams
Filled with fright, with light,
With all the depth and height
Of memories tight stacked
Come crashing out
To growl and cry
And laugh and shout.

wow you guys write much better than i!! !

The lack of metre, rhyme, and vivid imagery disqualifies even the most well-intentioned rant as poetry.

The lack of close observation and understanding disqualifies the validity of any criticism.

A critic with words clearly dim
Spouts volumes contrary and grim.
So the comment selected
Gets quickly rejected
Be the critic a her or a him.

Touché!

Here's another try about the frustrations of writing poetry. No rhymes byt the imagery isn't half bad.

WORDSMITH

How to attack the world,
Wring gold or sustenance
From its tough shell?
I have tried to craft
Words into jewelry,
Into demonic masks
Of necromantic strength,
Into common useful tools
To hammer down
The nails of necessity,
Screw tight the bolts
That prevent
My treasonous components
From exploding in revolt
To wander in the jungles
Of impracticality.
All comes to nothing.
I end slobbering
While giggling goblins
Finger through
The pockets of my mind,
Chew holes in my clothes,
Lick my ears and between my toes
So I sit within the grotesque crowd
In helpless laughter.