Rainy Days

Poetry

I don't understand poetry.

Words falling from bleeding lips cut on the edges of shattered hearts.

Words crafted from heartache and carefully sculpted in the image of an emotion that demands to be Heard. To be Felt. To be Remembered.

Words strung together carelessly like a line of pearls worn too many times. They slip and slide and threaten to break yet somehow remain, held together by a thin string to form something beautiful.

Poetry.

I don't understand

How people can push together words like pieces of a puzzle to paint a perfect picture of their soul, laid bare on the page for all to see.

I don't understand

How each word or phrase can carry the weight of a world that doesn't exist until painted with a silver tongue and suddenly they become tangible. Palpable. Painful.

I don't understand

How T's and I's become tears in eyes when the reader feels the pain written on the page in invisible letters carved by an author with a breaking heart. As if drained from their own veins and splashed on a page, the ink carries the weight of a thousand heartaches, drying long before the tears that come with it. But the feelings remain. Trapped between the pages of crumpled paper.

How do they do that?

The authors.

How do they connect

convey

communicate

Everything.

Pulling words from their mouth to trap on a page. On paper so thin that the letters bleed through to the other side. Held with a sigh because they feel it too. Wearing thin. Transparent.

I don't understand how laughter and joy can stem from a simple phrase written on a faded page from a book buried in a library of memories that time forgot.

I don't understand

How authors can know they're writting the right thing.

How they know with certainty that their work holds the weight of a feeling that crawls off the page and slips under your skin so you feel it too. Until you feel the beat of their heart transcribed in 12 pt font. Until your very core aches with longing for something you never knew.

I don't understand

How words

Letters

Sounds

Just a few characters

Can have such an effect.

How they can connect two hearts with golden thread, across distance and time as if they mean nothing. They beat as one in time with the stanzas, like clockwork.

I don't understand

The complicated construct of poetry and all it's painful nuances, intertwined with foreign heartbeats and hollow souls ignorant to distance. Twisted words with double meanings dripping with memories too painful to forget. Sentences saturated with sentiment. Old poems and new built from layers of words piled on top of each other in towering spires, stretching desperately towards the sky in vain attempts to capture fleeting sunlight and tattered remnants of happiness.

I dont understand

But I want to.