Poets only write when they are upset.
So tonight I write poetry for things I can’t forget.
But a poet can’t live in the past – for in the past there’s only his regret.
For in poetry humanity forgives itself.
In poetry the poet heals his soul and feels what he can’t anyplace else.
Because in a poem he feels love, for a time he’s worthy of his feelings and he’s enough.
For in life he rarely felt what he felt in a poem.
A poem is home. In a poem you’re never alone and there’s no unknowns.
Only the ebb and flow of the words.
And for a moment life and feelings are the same.
A poem is a sunset. It soothes the soul and forgives the day. It feels as good as that quote I still replay.
“You can be as mad as a mad dog at the way things went. You can swear and curse the fates, but when it comes to the end, you have to let go.”
I’m trying. G-damnit I’m trying. But if I said I didn’t remember one thing a day I’d be lying.
I still have the same dreams and I still want the same things.
I won’t settle for less than better and to get there I will survive whatever I have to weather.
And I will only tie myself down if I know the knot will last forever.
But there’s no guarantee but change and you can’t predict the weather.
But you can prepare for the inevitable and you can design a life that’s incredible.
But you’re gonna go through your fair share of pain just as a crop needs it’s fair share of rain.
And when things feel unbearable, I write my feelings into words shareable.
Sometimes I stare into into the dark of my ceiling and use metaphors to make light of my feelings.
‘Like a withered leaf in the fall wind I scrape along the pavement unnoticed.’
Poetry bathes the brain and soothes an incurable pain.
It releases me and frees me from my anguish.
Poetry is the only countenance for the inadmissible truths I face:
I’m plagued with Jungian loneliness.
I’m still repeating tired mistakes.
I’m still searching for home.
These truths mask my fears and give cause for my pent up tears.
So tonight I wrote this poem to forgive myself for the love that I couldn’t give myself.
Im no longer so upset.
Beautiful <3
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Lawrence:
Excellent, enjoyed reading that.
Love you,
xo Dad
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[…] never have come to see any of this. I’d still feel empty and lost. Not that I don’t have my moments, but through meditative self-exploration I’ve become aware of the underlying mechanics of my […]
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[…] a feeling that’s been turning over in my soul lately, and as I’ve admitted before, poets only write poetry when they are upset – and often I use poetry as a medium for my writing because in a poem I can say things that […]
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Lovely
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Thank you
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