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HOW IT HAPPENS
Poetry comes to me at night
When the whole world turns quiet
I have with me a pen...
A blank paper
My thoughts...
My heart...
And some cheap wafer
I start to cry;
I hear my mind
Yes,
I weep because mostly I can’t seem to find
A way to make things better
To make my pains lesser
Then my tears begin to fill that plain white sheet
I watch as it weaves me a colorful cloth
Its beautiful complexity, delicately designed
Astounded, I'm left in shock
As the colors rush out like a flooded river
From my aorta, it's source, it makes me shiver
Yet I don’t stop to think
When it gets to me from that side
No,
My heart won’t let me do that thing
It won’t allow me take that ride
It’s because of the way I feel
And I believe...
From the beauty of poetry
I will someday heal.
Comments
romantic_bohemian
Sat, 2012-05-05 22:48
I can relate
This poem is relatable and has potential. I like the middle part of the poem but I thought it could be different in terms of punctuation and word choice.
I watch as it weaves me a colorful cloth
Its beautiful complexity, delicately designed
Astounded, I'm left in shock
As the colors rush out like a flooded river
From my aorta, it's source, it makes me shiver
Inspiration for poetry comes to me in silent quiet places too. I do believe in the power of words, and yes the beauty of poetry is healing.
AmmaKonadu
Sun, 2012-05-06 09:52
I like
the changes! Thank you! Going to do a revision right away.
Glad you stopped by!!
AmmaKonadu
Sun, 2012-05-06 17:11
Thanks, Lonnie!
This is still in the works, so i'll keep thinking.
Thanks for your very encouraging comments.