Cobwebbed and dusty,
These fingers suddenly sprouted to life,
Started dancing to the pitter-patter of the raindrops and the whistling of the wind,
As they illustrated a thought unthinkable
For hands to ever wonder.
Once upon a time
(Maybe two months ago?
Three?)
These hands had laid broken, wedged between a thousand-paged textbook and
Procrastination.
Something somewhere promised for
Inspiration to come forth tomorrow, or the next day
Or perhaps the next day and, if not,
The next day.
And these hands somehow believed these words,
Held to every bated breath and stressed syllable, yet
Still, they somehow knew that
These words were merely optimistic lies.
But they never did expect the onslaught of
Chugging trains of thought and protractors falling
From the very skies.
They never thought they'd be plunged to a world
Where poetry was non-existent.
And maybe that's why they stayed there, dead.
Alone.
Mourning.
For, what is a life without poetry but
Empty?
But then, for what felt like infinity,
An idea came and it stuck and
It stuck and
It stuck.
And so these fingers were ignited once again
With that all-too-familiar desire to create, to
Write.
For in a world without poetry, there's only one thing that one should ever do.
Shun the demons, ignore society,
Shoo procrastination.
It's time to make your own.
A/N: Pretty much explains why I was gone for most of the time, haha. I'll probably be busy though after because exams (which are tomorrow, on my birthday haha).
This will probably be my last piece before Finals but don't take my word on it. If I'm too stressed out, I'll try and produce something haha. :)
Cheers!
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Poetry| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
