"Poet Boy" I met this kid... that kept his writings hid. Since a small boy, he kept his artwork hid. No one ever knew all the writings he did. That night we met, That night I'll never forget. I was under the moonlight feeling sad... He must of sensed that I was feeling insanely mad. Him a kid; me an adult, Before I could question as to why a boy his age was out that late, without a word he raised his shirt revealing the artwork he always kept hid, His blue eyes matched mine tear after tear, He must of knew the secret I did bear, So without hesitation, I raised my sleeve's to reveal my scarred skin of poetry. I know this may sound strange but that night both of our live's suddenly began to change, We haven't crossed paths since, But we share something of a 6th sense, He's happy now and shares his artwork in museums of famous names, As for me, I'm old at the age of ninety-three and my poetry resides in books of famous names.
Another poem leaks out of my eye, Why tonight, I cry? No matter how hard I fight, It still rolls down my cheek tonight, Forcing my ink to write, Poetry disguised in the form of tears, Now on paper as a charcoal's smear, They travel from within my heart, They gush out and up breaking it all apart, Then they make it up to my eye, From my lid's they drip, Forming into ink from my finger's tip, What happened to gravity? Another night's catastrophe. ~ VenJencie (01/26/18)
So many night's unable to sleep. Then thoughts come alive so I write. I am brand new on this site. Any suggestions or tips appreciated. Thank you.