Now that poetry has found me at last,
it feels like I can die any minute without it being in vain.
A poem is a poet's way to be a rebel,
to write is to live forever when nothing else matters.
How fragile is a poet's inner soul -
the one you condemn, rip out, and abandon to the sea.
I used to think I was dead already, someone without a voice
and then you came to me like love, without me even choosing
These words that fall from my pen each day
connect me to more than who I am, more than I could ever be.
And now I wonder, when I write my final word
take my final breathe, will you truly know me for who I really was?
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 6:37 AM UTC
Now that poetry has found me at last,
it feels like I can die any minute without it being in vain.
A poem is a poet's way to be a rebel,
to write is to live forever when nothing else matters.
How fragile is a poet's inner soul -
the one you condemn, rip out, and abandon to the sea.
I used to think I was dead already, someone without a voice
and then you came to me like love, without me even choosing
These words that fall from my pen each day
connect me to more than who I am, more than I could ever be.
And now I wonder, when I write my final word
take my final breathe, will you truly know me for who I really was?
Exquisite Corpse
Surrealists liked to explore the mystique of accident and one ways of doing this was by creating an exquisite corpse.
They did this by handing out a note with a single phrase of writing on it. Each of the other surrealists would add a phrase to the note. But each person only saw the phrase written by the person who handed the note to them. The other phrases would be folded so they weren’t visible and once each person had written a phrase the paper note would be unfolded and the poem read out loud to the group.
Being surrealism, nothing is set in stone, everything can be changed. This exquisite corpse was created by Frank Lambert and Erica C.
Hope you enjoy… :)
