Drops of melancholy seep into my pores
Drops alluring me to
A dark corner of my childhood tears
Wounds on a tender heart never seem to heal
Drops echoing a mantra: Poetical tiara dipped in pain
Poets are made of rain
Drops not listening to my deafening nausea:
Never did I desire
A broken shadow framed by fame
Nuns' acidity wrapped in drops
Chanting: No protest, child
Eat ignorance vomit and Praise the Lord
Little did they know
Nevertheless, nursing my sanity I walk in pain into poetry
Back to day light
Capturing a Wake up call:
The scent of God, Beauty within my reach
1 comment:
I have walked so many miles to discover things i already knew, things that all of us know but that are so hard to accept.
is there anything harder for us than discovering that we can achieve power? this pain that i feel in my breast makes most give up their dreams when they see that they can be realized, they do not know what what to do with their own happiness.
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