And with the blessing from my eyes, I see,
but my heart cannot bring itself to believe.
With the bristling of my ear, I hear,
but my thoughts cannot seem to conceive.
So what must I do, to bring myself out of failure,
and grant myself safety from this seizure?
What must I do to grant myself this closure,
against this maelstrom that consists of only pleasure?
And I try to speak my school of thoughts,
but my eyes are too blotchy, too bleak.
And my mouth cries out volumes of chaos,
but my vision is too tongue tied to speak.
And none understand the flints of my sorrow,
still none understand why I wait for tomorrow.
For nurturing this guise of sadness,
is like giving birth to a tree.
As when the leaves have all fallen,
there is nothing more left to see.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
