Always the artist, never the muse,
Is my beauty really to no use?
I notice gems in everyone I see,
But to me, I only look like a flea.
Was it universe's mistake?
Answer me for god's sake.
I wonder if there was a time,
Someone gazed at the tragedy I am.
And thought that my hair was not just blonde,
But also a gold filled flowing pond,
With my teary brown eyes, being the after storm, big sunset skies.
Filled with multiple still raining diamonds,
Coming from high, as tears they have been shedding for months.
And if they did,
Did they also notice the secret I hid?
I am the phrase itself:
"Sun always comes out after thunder"
They could notice for themselves,
If I only were a poem,
not the poet.
Was I really born with so little in me,
That all I'm worth is the creation,
And not the inspiration?
W.M
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of a Shattered Connection
PoetryNavigating the Path from Love to Loss is not in our control. No matter what we could try to do, there is only a slim chance we could actually change love's will and favourites. Love is mainly about grieving. And grief is a huge part of our life, it...
