"metaphores" poems - Hello Poetry

I was thinking about you In my own language, not in yours I used no beautiful sentences And no sweet metaphores I was just thinking about you -

0

Apr 12, 2014

Apr 12, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC

shan-de-vries

Thinking About You

I was thinking about you In my own language, not in yours I used no beautiful sentences And no sweet metaphores I was just thinking about you -

6

What If I was to write you a poem? Free of metaphores and similes. What If i was to write you a poem? Where the truth lay without fear or expectation. What if I was to write you a poem? Where every simple word made you feel at home. What if I was to write you a poem? That said your heart is safe with me. If I could write you a poem, There would be no strings attached. If I could write you a poem, You'd know what I was trying to say. The simple words of that poem would read, Put simply, I love you, I'm hoping that you stay.

0

Oct 6, 2016

Oct 6, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC

amanda-francis

If I could write you a poem...

What If I was to write you a poem? Free of metaphores and similes. What If i was to write you a poem? Where the truth lay without fear or expectation. What if I was to write you a poem? Where every simple word made you feel at home. What if I was to write you a poem? That said your heart is safe with me. If I could write you a poem, There would be no strings attached. If I could write you a poem, You'd know what I was trying to say. The simple words of that poem would read, Put simply, I love you, I'm hoping that you stay.

14

i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights fill my radiator change the oil and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it he dumped me via text before that there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization my over-use of metaphores and similies the way i personify the night and practice preforming poetry in the shower he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack and somewhere in between i stopped asking myself what it means threw up my hands and learned to enjoy the ride

0

Mar 11, 2014

Mar 11, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC

Sparrowfreckles

there's that buddy holly song with the rollercoaster...

i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights fill my radiator change the oil and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it he dumped me via text before that there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization my over-use of metaphores and similies the way i personify the night and practice preforming poetry in the shower he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack and somewhere in between i stopped asking myself what it means threw up my hands and learned to enjoy the ride

15

Please don't do this to me. Do not walk up to the cliff And off the edge Do not take all your pills at once Or drink bleach. I hate you Because I am crying right now. You abuse me But then you want *to **** yourself* No metaphores or fanciness And I want to save you But who is there to save me? I want you to be ok But I swear that you will break me Everything is falling apart Don't tell me that you will I can't believe I am begging you To stay alive I can't live with the guilt If you were to die tonight I am begging you to live

0

May 6, 2014

May 6, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC

rosey-b

Helping You

Please don't do this to me. Do not walk up to the cliff And off the edge Do not take all your pills at once Or drink bleach. I hate you Because I am crying right now. You abuse me But then you want *to **** yourself* No metaphores or fanciness And I want to save you But who is there to save me? I want you to be ok But I swear that you will break me Everything is falling apart Don't tell me that you will I can't believe I am begging you To stay alive I can't live with the guilt If you were to die tonight I am begging you to live

23

I am, just a surragate the Universe chooses, at random, to impregnate with the ideas of time eternal. This stick of lead, the narrow birth canal through which these words must pass as I, with trembling palms and sweated brow, force my hands to shape the words as quickly as I pass them. But my hands are clumsy things. This paper is the birthing towel on which these words breath first life. And when I step to the mic to speak these words, release these words like one million birds set free from cage one butterfly break of cocoon, each one set forth with their own intent to heal or harm to love or **** I pray these words remember the time I spent coddling and caressing chastising and correcting, shaping them into the clicks and tones and dips and moans you will recognize as poetry. Simple words clothed in similes and metaphores. But my words are week. They hold no power outside of intent can't hold you captive without your consent. For when I speak these words into existence, I send them off as dandelion seeds into the wind to land where they may. For I am merely a surrogate the Universe chooses, at random, to impregnate with the ideas of time eternal. I am merely a poet. Nothing more and probably much less.

0

Nov 8, 2011

Nov 8, 2011 at 9:13 PM UTC

chris-tyler-young

Poet

I am, just a surragate the Universe chooses, at random, to impregnate with the ideas of time eternal. This stick of lead, the narrow birth canal through which these words must pass as I, with trembling palms and sweated brow, force my hands to shape the words as quickly as I pass them. But my hands are clumsy things. This paper is the birthing towel on which these words breath first life. And when I step to the mic to speak these words, release these words like one million birds set free from cage one butterfly break of cocoon, each one set forth with their own intent to heal or harm to love or **** I pray these words remember the time I spent coddling and caressing chastising and correcting, shaping them into the clicks and tones and dips and moans you will recognize as poetry. Simple words clothed in similes and metaphores. But my words are week. They hold no power outside of intent can't hold you captive without your consent. For when I speak these words into existence, I send them off as dandelion seeds into the wind to land where they may. For I am merely a surrogate the Universe chooses, at random, to impregnate with the ideas of time eternal. I am merely a poet. Nothing more and probably much less.

43

A simile is like a metaphor. A metaphor is a similie, Except if it forgot "like" or "as" A similie is like checkers, The rules are simple, easy to follow. A metaphor is chess, Complex and intricate. Think of a simile as the store brand A metaphor is the name brand Of anything. Metaphors are tests for the mind, They make you visualize Bear Mountain. Similies are like little suggestions, They point you in the right direction, The Mountain was big like a bear. Both important, Both fun! I like similies Metaphores are love.

0

Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC

kayla-morrison

It's like/It Is

A simile is like a metaphor. A metaphor is a similie, Except if it forgot "like" or "as" A similie is like checkers, The rules are simple, easy to follow. A metaphor is chess, Complex and intricate. Think of a simile as the store brand A metaphor is the name brand Of anything. Metaphors are tests for the mind, They make you visualize Bear Mountain. Similies are like little suggestions, They point you in the right direction, The Mountain was big like a bear. Both important, Both fun! I like similies Metaphores are love.

20

Mistress of the Sun, I dress words in metaphores. Tell the Moon I’m home.

0

Jun 22, 2018

Jun 22, 2018 at 1:50 AM UTC

irene_77cj

Words

Mistress of the Sun, I dress words in metaphores. Tell the Moon I’m home.

3

You know I have no idea What is a cliche or metaphors? Sorry no idea I write from the heart The love of words I don't need the ******** Write what you think and feel That's true poetry

0

Nov 27, 2014

Nov 27, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC

joe-cole

Cliches and Metaphores

You know I have no idea What is a cliche or metaphors? Sorry no idea I write from the heart The love of words I don't need the ******** Write what you think and feel That's true poetry

8

amidst the loud noise & the sweat that drips from heated foreheads your hands slip from a new friend to a red cup & for the rest of the night you’ll idly stand maybe concerned with tomorrows homework trying to catch a feeling of the way peoples arms look without weight you weren’t going to even go out tonight but your friends said you’d regret it even though you knew you wouldn’t if you did go you went anyways, worried this time was different but now that your here and they’re playing fetty wap for the second time this time isn’t different what is different is the artwork someones failed attempt at collaging girls ***** tasteful side **** to full exposed kardashian the only thing unexposed is the exposed brick they covered ironically and sadistically you remember frat boys don’t do metaphores you manage to get your hands on some chips as your eyes meet some guys across the room awkwardly and unobviously locking in place you step away from his line of vision moving backwards towards kate who can’t remember your name from film class so you have to hint at chanelle for input stumbling to call your name through liquored breathe lost in thought, but somehow forming sentences to kate someone nudges your side Alex He was the guy across the room the lighting must have been weird or something you talk for a bit about middle school he hugs you uncomfortably wondering if there was some broken rule about accepting hugs from people that aren’t your boyfriend He tells you about his skate board attempting sarcasm at every turn his voice burning into the air soon the conversation swoops to music he asks about your taste you say you don’t have any and you’re arms start to feel weightless too You say bye to Alex (and to Kate) Chanelle mouths “where the hell are you going” before you know it your on line 2 drifting to bloor and younge writing about a party that you weren’t even suppose to be at you're writing about a party that never really happened but somehow that night still really ****** you off

0

Oct 2, 2015

Oct 2, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC

Evil_Wench_97

The Party

amidst the loud noise & the sweat that drips from heated foreheads your hands slip from a new friend to a red cup & for the rest of the night you’ll idly stand maybe concerned with tomorrows homework trying to catch a feeling of the way peoples arms look without weight you weren’t going to even go out tonight but your friends said you’d regret it even though you knew you wouldn’t if you did go you went anyways, worried this time was different but now that your here and they’re playing fetty wap for the second time this time isn’t different what is different is the artwork someones failed attempt at collaging girls ***** tasteful side **** to full exposed kardashian the only thing unexposed is the exposed brick they covered ironically and sadistically you remember frat boys don’t do metaphores you manage to get your hands on some chips as your eyes meet some guys across the room awkwardly and unobviously locking in place you step away from his line of vision moving backwards towards kate who can’t remember your name from film class so you have to hint at chanelle for input stumbling to call your name through liquored breathe lost in thought, but somehow forming sentences to kate someone nudges your side Alex He was the guy across the room the lighting must have been weird or something you talk for a bit about middle school he hugs you uncomfortably wondering if there was some broken rule about accepting hugs from people that aren’t your boyfriend He tells you about his skate board attempting sarcasm at every turn his voice burning into the air soon the conversation swoops to music he asks about your taste you say you don’t have any and you’re arms start to feel weightless too You say bye to Alex (and to Kate) Chanelle mouths “where the hell are you going” before you know it your on line 2 drifting to bloor and younge writing about a party that you weren’t even suppose to be at you're writing about a party that never really happened but somehow that night still really ****** you off

52

strapped by a seat belt . the road is hot lava . the car is a boat . the snow covered lawn is frozen .

0

Oct 20, 2014

Oct 20, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC

the-stank-man

metaphores

strapped by a seat belt . the road is hot lava . the car is a boat . the snow covered lawn is frozen .

4

Pardon the way that I stare! reading your ink leaves me weak leading me strong and bare wanting to read yours dear can't take my finger off this cell mirror keyboard cyberg My words expressing my hells my paradise lands all gone madness is not an option to claim courage and patience are winning clues understanding others a must! Going mis-understood isn't with the great sages reading this; it's with cold and timid souls, knowng neither triumph nor defeat. Poets across the globe write much this way and thrive Our honorable metaphors linked living in interesting times poetic writers all tuned in diverse minds global united we are! One single thought our minds become One single beat our hearts sing a tune Here at Hello poetry honorable metaphors greeted with likes and loves heart throbbing poems linking us all at once from Hello Poetry across the globe so that we may linger on timeless beyond. ~~~~~~~ By: Karijinbba revised 01/2020. Revised 07-20/20.

0

Jul 7, 2019

Jul 7, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC

karijinbba

Honourable metaphores linked

Pardon the way that I stare! reading your ink leaves me weak leading me strong and bare wanting to read yours dear can't take my finger off this cell mirror keyboard cyberg My words expressing my hells my paradise lands all gone madness is not an option to claim courage and patience are winning clues understanding others a must! Going mis-understood isn't with the great sages reading this; it's with cold and timid souls, knowng neither triumph nor defeat. Poets across the globe write much this way and thrive Our honorable metaphors linked living in interesting times poetic writers all tuned in diverse minds global united we are! One single thought our minds become One single beat our hearts sing a tune Here at Hello poetry honorable metaphors greeted with likes and loves heart throbbing poems linking us all at once from Hello Poetry across the globe so that we may linger on timeless beyond. ~~~~~~~ By: Karijinbba revised 01/2020. Revised 07-20/20.

54

I'll take my own experience, Wrap it up and tie it in a bow. I'll take all the things I've felt, Make it poetic and put it in a show. I will build walls around my heart, Then talk about how roses bloom in the cracks. And I'll tell them how you kisses me where you punched, But never tell them I punched back. I will write monologues about the sky And how it reminds me of your hair Or perhaps a sonnet About how I never really cared. I'll take my abandonment issues and sob stories Into the palm of my hand Then crush it into stardust And try to be the sea glass in a beach full of sand But no matter how many Metaphores or analogies I create I can make words beautiful But never my feelings fake. We are poets stuck in a cycle, Blooming blossoms that never change. We are artists making art Out of the beauty of pain.

0

Nov 1, 2018

Nov 1, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC

Tyler_The_Cactus

Why (are) all the poets depressed

I'll take my own experience, Wrap it up and tie it in a bow. I'll take all the things I've felt, Make it poetic and put it in a show. I will build walls around my heart, Then talk about how roses bloom in the cracks. And I'll tell them how you kisses me where you punched, But never tell them I punched back. I will write monologues about the sky And how it reminds me of your hair Or perhaps a sonnet About how I never really cared. I'll take my abandonment issues and sob stories Into the palm of my hand Then crush it into stardust And try to be the sea glass in a beach full of sand But no matter how many Metaphores or analogies I create I can make words beautiful But never my feelings fake. We are poets stuck in a cycle, Blooming blossoms that never change. We are artists making art Out of the beauty of pain.

24

Why should I keep writing, when there is no one to write for. All that I have written, made me less attractive, made me hopeless Chanceless, I feel so stupid, sad and mistaken, does nobody not a single girl, think I'm cute enough to help me out of this sightless hole Tell me I'm not useless, tell me there is someone out there, tell me it's you. I'd write about you, for you, with you, metaphores come automatically Words arrange themselves when you bring them to me. It's not necessary to like my writings, just be flattered that I'd do it for you. Isn't that what really counts, counting the days till I see you meet you, recognizing, each other, missing piece, long lost feelings rejoined. Join me in my journey, escape the nets of fishers, escape the cages of the zoo escape the reservoirs. Together we could be unique creatures. Loved and hated Adored, adore me like a cold sundae on a hot sunday.

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC

Daan

all teared up

Why should I keep writing, when there is no one to write for. All that I have written, made me less attractive, made me hopeless Chanceless, I feel so stupid, sad and mistaken, does nobody not a single girl, think I'm cute enough to help me out of this sightless hole Tell me I'm not useless, tell me there is someone out there, tell me it's you. I'd write about you, for you, with you, metaphores come automatically Words arrange themselves when you bring them to me. It's not necessary to like my writings, just be flattered that I'd do it for you. Isn't that what really counts, counting the days till I see you meet you, recognizing, each other, missing piece, long lost feelings rejoined. Join me in my journey, escape the nets of fishers, escape the cages of the zoo escape the reservoirs. Together we could be unique creatures. Loved and hated Adored, adore me like a cold sundae on a hot sunday.

19

All of these things that I write And every word therein Are more for my self than anyone else They are advice to my self Even when they may seem otherwise Especially when pain is the only reminder that I'm awake I am talking my way out of the places my mind takes me The remedy for what ails me And sometimes, hopelessness having it's way I know that there are brighter days ahead For they call to me Giving me reason to hope at all Even on the days I am my own worst enemy But, sometimes one cannot break free of one's cell Unless every inch of such is explored For shadows do not always bring demise More often than not, they bring answers Sometimes found within the questioning despair Strength never comes without experience And victory never comes without a fight But, even the losses are victories For I learn more about my self And what I can endure What breaks me, and what makes me stronger Fear does not mean weakness Failure does not mean defeat Just as victory does not mean success It all depends on the lessons that come thereafter And the intent of each attempt Because sometimes what I want is not mine to have Even when it is something everyone desires in their own way Though mind and heart cannot agree Sometimes suffering hand in hand Sometimes content in the joy of desires unobtained But, always waiting... Longing... Dreaming... Lamenting...... Rejoicing For, even in wishes ungranted Dreams yet untrue Nightmares revisited and unresolved It is the knowledge of beauty There are still things in this world worth suffering for There is still wonder and magic in the midst of chaos There is still strength in my weakness Pleasure despite my pain Smiles in calamity And the only way to defuse the effects of my depression Is to study every aspect of emotion Mainly, those most volitile to my mental destruction Disarming sadness by personal description Metaphores and precise actualities Spoken not by the creative mind But by the afflictions of my soul Turning the darkness upon itself Before I completely turn on my self

0

Mar 9, 2014

Mar 9, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC

DanielSmithFreakMorbidity

Diary of the ****** -- Sunday, March 9th, 2014 - First entry

All of these things that I write And every word therein Are more for my self than anyone else They are advice to my self Even when they may seem otherwise Especially when pain is the only reminder that I'm awake I am talking my way out of the places my mind takes me The remedy for what ails me And sometimes, hopelessness having it's way I know that there are brighter days ahead For they call to me Giving me reason to hope at all Even on the days I am my own worst enemy But, sometimes one cannot break free of one's cell Unless every inch of such is explored For shadows do not always bring demise More often than not, they bring answers Sometimes found within the questioning despair Strength never comes without experience And victory never comes without a fight But, even the losses are victories For I learn more about my self And what I can endure What breaks me, and what makes me stronger Fear does not mean weakness Failure does not mean defeat Just as victory does not mean success It all depends on the lessons that come thereafter And the intent of each attempt Because sometimes what I want is not mine to have Even when it is something everyone desires in their own way Though mind and heart cannot agree Sometimes suffering hand in hand Sometimes content in the joy of desires unobtained But, always waiting... Longing... Dreaming... Lamenting...... Rejoicing For, even in wishes ungranted Dreams yet untrue Nightmares revisited and unresolved It is the knowledge of beauty There are still things in this world worth suffering for There is still wonder and magic in the midst of chaos There is still strength in my weakness Pleasure despite my pain Smiles in calamity And the only way to defuse the effects of my depression Is to study every aspect of emotion Mainly, those most volitile to my mental destruction Disarming sadness by personal description Metaphores and precise actualities Spoken not by the creative mind But by the afflictions of my soul Turning the darkness upon itself Before I completely turn on my self

57

I wanna write a letter to you but I thought it better if I used my metaphores and told a story for ya this one starts when I was young before all that numb stuff back before love was a cup full of drugs back where I grew up there wasn't much but a couple of us kids livin life like we wished the sunshined all the time you could catch us out side from noon till night ridin bikes, playin play fight on the same side, bein knights slaying dragons with our swords or soldiers out at war always packing action with whatever we imagined happend I remember vividly impatiently waitin for the gamin on the end the week on the ps 1,2,3, 360, pc, or wii, just livin the dream with my brother somewhere in the suburbs in the pool gettin sun burnt little fools with each other gettin noodles after supper time seemed to fly so slow waitin on the cold so we could go play in the snow till we're red in the nose knowin Christmas coming close it was simple livin those days when we were children at times I miss it kinda wish it didn't ever end though us back then wanted to grow up so bad an reminscin it's the same **** it's wishin we were somehwere different missin out on the beauty of livin minute to minute that's livin in now so stuck up in the clouds come down an look around what you'll find is pretty awesome opportunity begins to blossom everything stops looking so rotten so often lost in those Glory days never stop to entertain that hey maybe today's the golden age sun still shinin an I'm feelin great slow down bud there's so much to do growin up it'll come so soon the futures bright and the past was great but for a while let's live in today

0

Jan 31, 2019

Jan 31, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC

joshw

The beauty of now

I wanna write a letter to you but I thought it better if I used my metaphores and told a story for ya this one starts when I was young before all that numb stuff back before love was a cup full of drugs back where I grew up there wasn't much but a couple of us kids livin life like we wished the sunshined all the time you could catch us out side from noon till night ridin bikes, playin play fight on the same side, bein knights slaying dragons with our swords or soldiers out at war always packing action with whatever we imagined happend I remember vividly impatiently waitin for the gamin on the end the week on the ps 1,2,3, 360, pc, or wii, just livin the dream with my brother somewhere in the suburbs in the pool gettin sun burnt little fools with each other gettin noodles after supper time seemed to fly so slow waitin on the cold so we could go play in the snow till we're red in the nose knowin Christmas coming close it was simple livin those days when we were children at times I miss it kinda wish it didn't ever end though us back then wanted to grow up so bad an reminscin it's the same **** it's wishin we were somehwere different missin out on the beauty of livin minute to minute that's livin in now so stuck up in the clouds come down an look around what you'll find is pretty awesome opportunity begins to blossom everything stops looking so rotten so often lost in those Glory days never stop to entertain that hey maybe today's the golden age sun still shinin an I'm feelin great slow down bud there's so much to do growin up it'll come so soon the futures bright and the past was great but for a while let's live in today

61

This is for you you who love poems You who love Rhymes You who takes the time to read many lines You who are dedicated to the written word You who look forward to metaphores Who give feedback and comments Who faithfully follow I appreciate your likes Some may call you poetry fans I prefer to call you friends We are united in our love for poetry

0

Aug 18, 2013

Aug 18, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC

ButterflyAnn

This Is For You!

This is for you you who love poems You who love Rhymes You who takes the time to read many lines You who are dedicated to the written word You who look forward to metaphores Who give feedback and comments Who faithfully follow I appreciate your likes Some may call you poetry fans I prefer to call you friends We are united in our love for poetry

11

Resonance of words Sway to-and-fro In the dead of night The deep sea welcomes Swimming oar Splash metaphores Fertilizing the white leaf With bird droppings The right is a wrong And left, stone flower Heaven lives next door Her eyes a wilderness Hell is downright here Blazing a roar In stillness of poet's pond Moon reflects The passion of Truth and Lie As Morning star waits To outshine the darkling grace.

0

Oct 20, 2018

Oct 20, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC

bijan-rabiee

Truth and Lie

Resonance of words Sway to-and-fro In the dead of night The deep sea welcomes Swimming oar Splash metaphores Fertilizing the white leaf With bird droppings The right is a wrong And left, stone flower Heaven lives next door Her eyes a wilderness Hell is downright here Blazing a roar In stillness of poet's pond Moon reflects The passion of Truth and Lie As Morning star waits To outshine the darkling grace.

19

A body of water with a single bird atop, That one meaning is known about, But others might never find it. Break the wings of the bird, tie them, That the bird may never flee, But the meaning is disfigured. Give the bird a new tune to sing, Take its meaning away, But what it stood for doesn't change.

0

Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC

lottieT

metaphores

A body of water with a single bird atop, That one meaning is known about, But others might never find it. Break the wings of the bird, tie them, That the bird may never flee, But the meaning is disfigured. Give the bird a new tune to sing, Take its meaning away, But what it stood for doesn't change.

9

For months I've beeen trying to write you. To fold my emotions together like origami. I'd make you a boat so that you can escape. I'd bleed an ocean of ink from my pen. Tides and waves, velvety rich and blue. A grand sail of metaphores would carry you through an ocean of my desires, my ideals. But, I realized that I was lost in translation. My hands cant craft to catch your beauty. I've lost myself in paper chains, a strength of love untold. Your chains hit the bottom a year ago, they sway in stangnant waters. Chain links made of memories Bob lifelessly in the water. They stay around a centre point, gently knocking my shrivled skin. A blank face drowning in the inky sea, I'll stay to an anchor what was. With time these memories will bury me.

0

Mar 17, 2016

Mar 17, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC

amanda-francis

Unfinished2

For months I've beeen trying to write you. To fold my emotions together like origami. I'd make you a boat so that you can escape. I'd bleed an ocean of ink from my pen. Tides and waves, velvety rich and blue. A grand sail of metaphores would carry you through an ocean of my desires, my ideals. But, I realized that I was lost in translation. My hands cant craft to catch your beauty. I've lost myself in paper chains, a strength of love untold. Your chains hit the bottom a year ago, they sway in stangnant waters. Chain links made of memories Bob lifelessly in the water. They stay around a centre point, gently knocking my shrivled skin. A blank face drowning in the inky sea, I'll stay to an anchor what was. With time these memories will bury me.

14

How do I put it like it hasn't been before? How do I say it without it tumbling into a bore? How do I pronounce, in one word, what has to be heard? How do I write in ways it will not be forgotten? Is it metaphores like birds and flying? Is it with fire of dire rhyming? Is it rambling about loving or dying or even such harsh expressions it is lying? With bodies, with intertwining eyes, if not the rotting of a heart. I'd try with poems, paintings and precious works of art. But its purpose remains absent like a dead language in the present.

0

May 2, 2015

May 2, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC

Daan

Why would you?

How do I put it like it hasn't been before? How do I say it without it tumbling into a bore? How do I pronounce, in one word, what has to be heard? How do I write in ways it will not be forgotten? Is it metaphores like birds and flying? Is it with fire of dire rhyming? Is it rambling about loving or dying or even such harsh expressions it is lying? With bodies, with intertwining eyes, if not the rotting of a heart. I'd try with poems, paintings and precious works of art. But its purpose remains absent like a dead language in the present.

12