Category: Written in 2014

Someone dear sent me this picture.

I guess he meant the compliment but all I could see was the other part cloaked in guise of the compliment. I felt as terrible as the quote said I was. Ironically, out of the feeling came this poem.

The mind speaks past horror,
It battles with the heart,
Creating creation,
Transcending into art.

But is this terrible:
To exert poesy from pain,
To subdue the horror,
To wear away disdain?

If madness promotes creation,
If passion is thus built from strife,
Drench me with lunacy,
Surfeit me with life.

I know not what you mean,
All things aren’t what they seem.
A word is just a word –
Waiting just to be heard.

Perhaps we met in a past life,
Perhaps you ease some part of strife.
Why should I give feeling a name?
I know not if it remains the same.

I know you hear a part of me
And that you, at times, set pain free.
Why should you mean or seem true?
Maybe you are how I see you.

What is now is real – for awhile.
Let’s not think, shall we? Let’s just smile.

6am