Sweaty palms, nervous gulps,
Droplets of disbelief falling onto
The crevice of the notebook
You'd given me, saying I'd rule
Someday, for sure, I'd rule
A thousand hearts
With the power of my words.
Feet tapping continuously,
Trying to remember how
The pen once glided smoothly
Across the handmade paper,
How I couldn't stop my hand
From simply writing,
How I couldn't get that smile
Off my face.
Staring down at my fingers,
Holding the pen, holding it
Strong enough to not let go.
They willed themselves to grip
It tight and wait, in hope.
But this damned mind of mine,
It isn't quite my own anymore.
Filled with doubt, fear and
Reckless abandon,
It's forgotten the solace it once found
In this beautiful language.
It's ridiculed itself into believing
It is made only and only for
The pastel colored notes
We exchange for things.
Sweaty palms, nervous gulps,
I shake it off,
There won't come another day
When I don't believe in
The power these words have
To bring me in all its beauty,
Serenity.
YOU ARE READING
Echo of Thoughts
PoesíaPoetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that hurt. It is a matter of life not just a matter of language... Breathe in experience, breathe out poetry....
