Rhythm of Poems

Every Little Things You Say

'

For so long, I've been dreaming
to turn into dust and be swayed
by the gentle wind,
The urge to feel it's calmness,
the serene and idyllic feeling it
will give,
Yearning to be oblivious to the
untamed rhymes and words of
insensitive beings,
For my cup is already on its limit,
can't take another rusted nail that
will prick my inner soul within.

Worthless, weak, worst, witless
So caught up with their undignified
spit of metaphors, it stinks and stains
my skin with a red-inked pen,
Leaving tattoed scars that will
be embedded in me for a lifetime,
Their unerasable trash that can
only vanish and fade once I'm
already on a cold dark sarcophagus.

Every time I hear the things that
will come out from their sinful
close-minded mouth seems like
thousand of sharpened well
swords struck my naked back,
It can't be healed, plastered with
a gauge, and be look like it's not
been touched by a single scratch,
Those stinky phrases cannot be
withdrawn once they are heard,
they will be absorbed and been
carved into my inner prism,
Putting a corner that will forever
bring pain once it opens.

— August, Free Verse Poem

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