Crawling to repair my median voices,
I bump my lumbering head along the curtains
Picturing a light evaporating out of masses
A sculpture modeled in my deep-seated mountains
I'm about to begin a brand-new journey,
as all my letters and signs are falling airily
Grit is granting me with a glowing crown
No slices are left from my earlier dawns
A rapid switch hit on my pavement,
like losing memory and diving in
a lake full of velvet and blinding diamonds
My lot is sleeping in covering wings
Another morning emptied of tongues
I do a humming like bambino birds
My pen blushes when seeing my pump,
as wine of this pulp turns into dust
I steam to tie the stars, and I sink
in a giant maze of origami planes
I pinch every no-man's land, in a blink,
pour them like milk in a pan sitting on flames
When snowflakes rise as bubbles of calligraphy,
and symphonies catch back their delicacy
My wizard's iris drinks the clouded chords
Veins wrapped in purple, as it snows in my globe
I'm bordering the gate, into writer's crowning sun
I inscribe this poem, to salute ladies and gentlemen
my hand waves to you, as eclipse calls
This is not a break, just a swing of my bipedal poles
My silhouette hikes in an elevated air,
like a pat ballerina climbing up the stairs
Bolting bulldozers, with feeders into the orb
A crystal punch radiates downtown's corpse
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
Crawling to repair my median voices,
I bump my lumbering head along the curtains
Picturing a light evaporating out of masses
A sculpture modeled in my deep-seated mountains
I'm about to begin a brand-new journey,
as all my letters and signs are falling airily
Grit is granting me with a glowing crown
No slices are left from my earlier dawns
A rapid switch hit on my pavement,
like losing memory and diving in
a lake full of velvet and blinding diamonds
My lot is sleeping in covering wings
Another morning emptied of tongues
I do a humming like bambino birds
My pen blushes when seeing my pump,
as wine of this pulp turns into dust
I steam to tie the stars, and I sink
in a giant maze of origami planes
I pinch every no-man's land, in a blink,
pour them like milk in a pan sitting on flames
When snowflakes rise as bubbles of calligraphy,
and symphonies catch back their delicacy
My wizard's iris drinks the clouded chords
Veins wrapped in purple, as it snows in my globe
I'm bordering the gate, into writer's crowning sun
I inscribe this poem, to salute ladies and gentlemen
my hand waves to you, as eclipse calls
This is not a break, just a swing of my bipedal poles
My silhouette hikes in an elevated air,
like a pat ballerina climbing up the stairs
Bolting bulldozers, with feeders into the orb
A crystal punch radiates downtown's corpse
When you have a lot of things to say, but you don't know how to express them, because you have so many important tasks to accomplish, and you're out of inspiration. You start forcing yourself to be creative, but you fail miserably. So, you keep trying until you reach your goal, and it might be the last time you do it, as you're starting a new job, and you won't have enough time to cultivate your passions. Although, this change in your lifestyle seems great and promising, which makes you walk satisfied with your head held high, despite losing a part of yourself.
This poem illustrates all of the above.
Have you ever been in a similar situation?
Side note: this is not a farewell, I'm not going to stop writing, but it will be done less than before.
