the first time i let my heart decide
what i shall and shan’t abide
things became so clear to me
as i rose up from drudgery
the last time i let my feelings go
i ever so much just wanted to show
a girl i liked a part of my world
and to her hand my heart unfurled
but this time seems so different
to that would-be love left negligent
she shines like silver green-eyed fire
for once let me have what i desire
————————————————-
I write a lot of poetry. Sometimes they find their ways into songs, other times they just lay there in a folder and are never seen by anyone. You, the net, are the first persons to see this particular one apart from myself. I think there’s something really interesting about that. About the first time you share something with someone. There are two “me”s: the me that everyone else perceives from the way I act and communicate, and then there’s the me that I know. I hope one day to be able to share the me I know, in all it’s darkest despair and brightest glory, with someone else. Poetry is a window into one part of the private mind, as are songs, as is painting. These things are important for without them that “I” that lives completely within oneself would truly never be seen by anyone else except that individual. Philosophically speaking, you could say then that “I” doesn’t exist unless these windows are opened. Unless the “me” that I know is shared, even through a tiny window of poetry, all you see is the “me” that you form in your own mind from my interactions with you. A shell. One thing that drives an artist is a desire to open these windows, to share the “me”, the “I” that I know with someone else.
And just like that, as you move onto another page, the window closes, and I am lost in the sea of “Everyone Else” again.
Write some poetry.
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- Guest Posts on Blazing Minds in 2009
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I just love to music or Poetry.
Nice line u mention in poetry.
.-= Yogita is hoping you stop by and read =-.
Twitter: money_whisper
says:
This is another great poem from you although you lost me after reading the poetry and starting to read the comment below
Twitter: blogswithwings
says:
I use to write a lot of poetry when I was a teenager. The angst of youth can spur such creativity. But now I’m growing old and complacent I suppose. I hardly ever write poetry or prose any more. You’re lovely words have me wondering if I still have that kind of creativity sleeping deep inside of me or has it all drained away?
.-= Blog Angel a.k.a. Joella is hoping you stop by and read How To Emergency Proof Your Blog With An Article Stockpile =-.
well this comment is full of life and imagery so, in a bit of a paradox, i say that the expression of loss of creativity inside you manifests the presence of that very creativity. you’ve still got it