Follow your Words

I learned just recently when writing my poems that they aren't the same as they used to be. I remmeber when I used to gain inspriation from all the negative in my life and I would write a poem out of it. I even started to give myself the name "Dark Poet" But when I needed to write my poetry manusript for my seminar class, I was open to writing about anything that would come to my mind. I found myself getting inspired by many things such as people around me, weather, or anything else. I didn't have to stick to my usual inspriation pattern. If writing is truly something you like to do, it stays with you and follows you everywhere you go.

The Dark Poet

I’m quenched by the stillness

of ignored puddles against a curb

stepped over by those without time

avoiding unnecessary imperfections

My hunger vanishes from the grayness

I welcome and embrace

The sun burns away my thoughts

Tells me to use him for play

where all the world comes out from hiding

A union of laughter displayed

This picture is not my home

I am the cypress, a center piece

Known on an ordinary day.

The only light desired is imaginary

created in me by Erebus

where imagination is sparked

And words of power infuse together

born from the lightning

in the darkened sky

It's important to go with whatever words come to you because they are words full of truth and different moments in our life give us different inspiration. We aren't exactly the same person our whole life. We learn, grow, heal, hurt, and our writing goes right along with it because our words are who we are. When you try to go back to working on what you previously wrote, it may be difficult because it's not aprt of you at this time. So it is possible to write new things at different times or put aside what you previously wrote to go with something else. Follow it.

Day dream

Picture on the wall.

I'm there, framed inside

where I touch the cold ledge

slightly wet from the facing sea,

swaying in its sparkling dress.

The tingling salt on my face

I feel from each new current.

The sweetness of flowers

doing back strokes in the water,

waving their stems

back at me.

The twirling breeze brings me

back to the days of freedom.

A child's summer delight

to stay out until the setting sun,

welcoming the new day.

The seagulls call.

I hear my name

in their continuous song.

Sounding clearer now,

I turn away and sit

outside the painting again.