Someone told me recently
That I was born with a double-edged sword.
On one side,
I was given the gift of words-
The power to turn twenty-six letters
Into eloquent magic.
On the other,
I was given a well of emotions
To fill those letters with undeniable feeling.
My well ran deeper than most
And was filled to the brim; volatile, formidable.
The well often ran over, spilling its contents
And saturating me in raw emotion,
Pure, unrestricted, and suffocating.
That was when the words came best.
While I drowned, I brought those words to life.
My thoughts and feelings seemed to align
As I struggled to breathe,
Taking what I felt and feeding it to my gift,
Fueling my magic.
And that, you explained,
Was my predicament:
My double-edged sword.
Without the well to draw from,
My words held no power;
My magic was useless.
To have one, I had to have the other,
Yin had to have its Yang.
Somehow, you sensed my unease
And offered up your final piece of advice:
Your magic is a beautiful gift
And- while a burden-
The well goes hand in hand with it.
When it next overflows and your emotions
Threaten to drag you under,
Instead of letting yourself drown again
I suggest you learn to swim.
YOU ARE READING
Le Cygne
PuisiThe words of a dying swan. They vary greatly in length and content and I am extremely infrequent but I'm moving at my own pace and trying to get things I find important out of my system. Bear with me and in time I'll bare my soul to you.
