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I Write Poetry

To whom these words may belong



I am the sum of today's words

Scattered carelessly on your open page

Sometimes I am less than that

Shall you decide the value, of my poetic exchange?



Who knows my origins or final resting place?

Nothing more than casting ink blots centre-stage?

Is it all about me, my crimes set to rhyme?

Without you I am Nothing! Words locked inside my cage.



Mouth locked. Body stopped.

Mind a whirling haze.

Stab your insight in my chest.

So begins a brand new phase.



Did I set forth this rainfall

Pitter patter of puddles on your floor

Am I compelled by my own self?

Or as rain to river flows, is there something more?



More than nothing and endlessness?

More than reaching and fleeting dreams?

Without you will my words dry up?

Or flood your dams and streams?



I fear since we unleashed the heavens

Words will fall forever more

Waiting for the world to notice

To hear this ocean's roar

And ask me of these words

Are they mine or are they yours?
Sorrowfulgaze · 46-50, M
And ask me of these words

Are they mine or are they yours?


This is so powerful and sooooo damn true. Every muse, every inspiration brings that question to fore. Do the words stop when the person is gone? Do the words stop when the time of love has passed?


The answer is no but they don't feel the same either.
MayaHope · 41-45, F
Muse, receiver, writer, all play a part in making these lines more than nothing...@Sorrowfulgaze
That's lovely, I hope it's just a poem and you don't feel the same :)
MayaHope · 41-45, F
Well it is kind of about poetry and the literary exchange and process. How the reader shapes and defines the what is being expressed, but also how experience shakes the writer... kind of . It’s also to my muse...maybe @SimplyLogicalDiscipline
gmatthewb · 51-55, M
That was lovely.
MayaHope · 41-45, F
You are very kind! @gmatthewb

 
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