Out of the quarrels with others,
words sting, then fester
Out of the vituperative exchanges
with this person for whom you'd surely die
When your eyes are squeezed tight
to restrain the bubbling ire,
Your vexatious and vehement words
have already been released
That's when Sorrow takes its nascent steps
Out of the quarrels with these others,
The path becomes inexorably altered
and Poetry opens its sleepy eyes
As for the quarrel with ourselves?
It inhales each fiery syllable
and exhales the sorrowful poetry
1 comments:
Oh my...such beautifully written melancholic words. Well done, bravo Shannon!
To borrow words from Langston Hughes, "there's nothing more to say."
Post a Comment