Poetry.
Within these nights so lonely and wishful,
My pen and ink were my only companions,
Against the darkness and the pain it reaped.
And though the ink ran out quickly,
The words left behind shielded me from both truths and lies,
Letting me fall gently into hands of fantasies,
Where no one could intrude or cause misfortune upon me.
And though the pen would disobey constantly,
The recordings of pain hid me from deeper despair,
Letting me float calmly into arms of false realities,
Where no one could understand or purposely hurt me.
Against the darkness that knows not boundaries,
The senseless phrases and the quiet stanzas prowl beneath my pen and ink,
And once these companions have left me with enough strength to defend myself,
To paint myself with the bitter black ink to fight against the darkness,
These nights are no longer so lonely,
No longer so wishful. So disgustingly hopeful.
'Twas the power of poetry.
YOU ARE READING
a little about love
Poetry"When he smiles, does it feel like your cheeks seem to have a mind of their own?" This is a personal collection of short poems about love and its up's and down's. Enjoy different perspectives of falling in love, including honest narrations from a c...
