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When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
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@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Tribute to Robert Frost, my beloved poet
Based on the theme and thoughts of Robert Frost.
 Oct 2014 ryann
GailForceWinds
Here I am...

I'm climbing the mountain once again...
For what?

This is not the first time, will it be the last?

I'm getting tired of holding on..

The air is getting thinner as I climb higher

And where does this journey take me?

The crest of the mountain, just to turn around, and climb down again...  nothing has changed, it never does, so what is the point?

My last lifeline is the rope holding me close to the mountain surrounding me...

I unclick the lock, letting the rope fall freely to the ground below

I free my hands from the protruding rocks on the side of the mountain

I'm done holding on...

I'm done climbing...

I'm now free.

**"The End"
 Oct 2014 ryann
Haydn Swan
We are the ones who paint with words
thoughts and feelings soaring like birds,
horrors, dreams and things of the night
indelibly scribed for your delight

furrowed brows are forced to think
in pastel shades and jet black ink
scrawled in haste in an hour of need
raw nerves scraped until they bleed,

there is no cure or magic pill
we lost our freedom to the quill  
slicing our souls down to the bone
to leave a legacy carved in stone.
 Oct 2014 ryann
BF
-
 Oct 2014 ryann
BF
-
You twist my wrists and bunch my covers,
and you my leave my heart in tangles

You call me sweet and it makes me bitter,
and I don't think I love you

But I have love for you
And I am always sad to see you,
because I am always sad to see you go
 Oct 2014 ryann
BF
-
 Oct 2014 ryann
BF
-
It is like I am a pleated shirt and
you are an iron

And you can't iron out the pleats of a pleated shirt
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