I wrote this when I was writing so many poems. I really felt on a roll and then I read it all back and it was filled with cliche and drivel. I then wrote the poem below. The same words flowing from someone else's pen feels like touching heaven and I make them sound like a nursery rhymes. This was birthed out of frustration. I will return to it and work on it again so this is merely the first draft but I hope my frustration inspires you to pick up a pen.
This is the death of my words.
The end of this song.
Exposed the soul.
Smeared my heart on this page.
Platitudes and pity offered at my feet.
They stick in like knives.
Wit escapes my lungs and leaves self-indulgent babble.
The hands delve into the wound and cut and slice to get at the heart.
Pulling it away and throwing it into a metal tray.
The empty shell left to burn.
The heart then used to bring life to someone else.
Their wit and charm bring new existence.
The blood rushes through the veins and dances with power and influence.
I kneel down and sprinkle the ashes I have left.
Out of the ashes a Phoenix will rise if a smoldering spark still exists
ReplyDeleteI am speechless, frankly. This surgical style of narration makes it all the more painful.
ReplyDeleteAnd, you call this your draft? Okay. Ahem, I definitely need to get back to read the final piece.
This is astonishingly brilliant! I love the darkness! Thanks for following my blog. I am here to follow yours. Cheers!
we all feel the death, only to feel the re-birth moments later...
ReplyDeleteAnd your words pour out onto the page,because of such.Beautiful words, you.
ReplyDelete