Poetry Talk

New post from Sarah01

Why do I write still?

Before I let the words flow

There's a ritual I follow or maybe I don't

I open up a book for the thoughts I am incapable of

And I wonder if I am too selflish a rat

eating and teething everything my new born teeth could find

My hands too tiny, I might learn to carry the wonders I am not

If I learn to balance them on swords I will be strained a king

A kingdom built in vain

Oh my, they lived in isolation though

Enough and immaculate poets

They have mastered the new tricks when I don't even know the old

I am but a flower reflecting on the blackish damned dungeons

Of hell, such a sorrow

There's a cry in the faraway halls but no,

No my spirit is not lost

I won't shine I could not yet sailing through the motionless ocean

tints of gold

I am not enough and yet I write

But maybe I don't

Maybe, maybe they are just whispers of I hold

~Sarah

As to why I write poetry when I am not enough