·˚ ༘ ➳〔poetry heals wounds〕 ࿐ ࿔:🖇
Into the pitch black night,
Full of creatures claiming their right,
I was still awake in the flickering of a candle
Surrounded by words I could not handle.
With its roots appearing out of the blue,
The darkness was trying to get to me too
And it is too easy to be corrupted
By the night's peace you have always wanted.
So I wrote about blood and war,
About kingdoms that rise and fall,
I wrote about death and darkness
Frozen, untouched by sadness.
And then I watched them read my words,
Words I have always used as swords,
And with one glance I could see in their eyes
The fear that they weren't trying to hide.
When they called me a freak,
I just smiled, I was getting used to it,
But when they started the killing
My wounds were no longer healing.
My mind was getting darker and darker,
It felt like screaming under water
And I couldn't fight them, not on my own
The words that used to haunt me weren't anymore.
I could feel my conscience losing its glister
And, with the last breath I got left,
Over blood-stained lips to the world I whisper:
I'm not a monster, I'm a poet.
CITEȘTI
Of sweet and sour - poetry book
Poetry...and maybe sometimes words and paper are enough to heal a wounded heart
