Do you always feel the words you write or always write the words you feel?
Not such a simple question at all, is it?
If you'd go through your poems again at different points of time or different phases of life, you may feel differently about it.
To quote Led Zeppelin's Stairway To Heaven -
"There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings"
So, how do you feel now?
Maybe I am following a light,
A junction from where I took right
Some days I'm just chasing a high,
Is it just some words arranged tight
Or is it chastising yourself through the night?
For when the sun is shining bright,
I love taking my emotions for a flight.
I'm not hunting for any limelight,
Nor do I have any foresight.
I'm just driving through the misery and the plight,
Knowing I will always stop at a red light
Like a deer in the headlights
I'm trying to be my self-guiding light,
Try as I might.
Sometimes we don't even need a reason, but for days when the reasoning is strong, it must be upheld and respected. Cheers to all kinds of poets :)
Nestled in silence,
The trees carry no burdens
I want to feel that
when was the last time you wrote out of happiness?
I'm not stable enough for love
I'm not kind enough for love
I'm not worthy enough for love
I'm not ready for love
Lord please save me
I don't feel human
I don't have strength
I don't belong
I don't want to live
I'm nothing but depressed
A lost case
A piece of work
A damaged ex
Will I ever turn my life around?
And see the world differently?
Like it's meant to be
Like I have a destiny
Like anyone wants me
To be here
bless these darkening skies
i can only get to you
when i close my eyes
I will spread dirt into every crevice of my broken heart and plant flowers so big and beautiful, that their roots will mend all the shattered pieces back together, and you’ll never be able to see the mess I used to be.
Staring past sunken skies,
Beyond darkness, twinkling lights,
A star is born admist grey clouds,
Straining to shine with others around.
Across galaxies and milkey white roads,
A pretty star begins to grow old,
With a bust of flame, a shattering light,
Of Scarlets and Rubies,
Its death rings wild.
Astralis - pertaining to the stars
ᵃ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵇᵃᵇʸ
ˢᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ
ᴵ ᶜʳᶦᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸˢᵉˡᶠ ʷᵃᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ
ᵍᶦᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵐʸ ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ ˡᶦᶠᵉ
ᵃ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵇᵃᵇʸ
ᵗʷᵉⁿᵗʸ⁻ᵉᶦᵍʰᵗ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵒˡᵈ
ᶠᵉᵉˡᶦⁿᵍ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ ⁿᶦⁿᵉ
ʳᵉᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵈᵗᶦᵐᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ
ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ
ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᶦᵍʰᵗᵐᵃʳᵉˢ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ʰᵉᵃᵈ
ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ
ʷᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˢᵒ ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ
ʷᵉ ʰᵒˡᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ
ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴅs
ᴡʜᴏ'ᴠᴇ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ