i don't have a way with words
less poet
more the howling fool that chases them apart
my sweaty struggles always leave me blinded and alone
owed nothing
clinging to
empty
empty
spaces
i call these spaces stories
and like the siren that grants
a shipwreck and death against razor sharp rocks
i lure them in
found their deepest darkest secret
every word wants nothing more
than to die like a story
see,
i have a way with stories
and i'd like to imagine
that stories take up a place as the echo
of love when it grows from that first enticing smile
or the infant cry when it purges childhood pain
deep down in the hidden treasuries of
your most heartfelt of hearts
me tracing this with pitch black ink on paper
you committing this to your beating crimson heart
we're connected with an ancient thread that
even the gods dare not tear apart
see they too
in all their might and glory
want nothing more
than the epic bliss
of a truly good
and heartfelt
story.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
i don't have a way with words
less poet
more the howling fool that chases them apart
my sweaty struggles always leave me blinded and alone
owed nothing
clinging to
empty
empty
spaces
i call these spaces stories
and like the siren that grants
a shipwreck and death against razor sharp rocks
i lure them in
found their deepest darkest secret
every word wants nothing more
than to die like a story
see,
i have a way with stories
and i'd like to imagine
that stories take up a place as the echo
of love when it grows from that first enticing smile
or the infant cry when it purges childhood pain
deep down in the hidden treasuries of
your most heartfelt of hearts
me tracing this with pitch black ink on paper
you committing this to your beating crimson heart
we're connected with an ancient thread that
even the gods dare not tear apart
see they too
in all their might and glory
want nothing more
than the epic bliss
of a truly good
and heartfelt
story.
A story dedicated to the struggles of poets.
For my fellow HP poets especially :)