One of the things that ignites my flame of passion for writing is listening to poetry. I don’t often write poetry, and I only read it occasionally, but if there’s a chance to listen to someone read it, I’m there — captivated.
The spoken word is so powerful. It can be soft and subtle, tiptoeing across your heart, or it can be loud and demanding, tearing through you like a stampede of rhinoceroses. That’s what I love about it. It can be so personal, emotional, raw, and unexpected. That kind of vulnerability inspires me.
Here’s a poem I wrote many years ago, but am sharing for the first time. I hope it inspires you to create or pursue something fulfilling today.
Check back next week, or subscribe. I’ll be posting a psychological thriller I wrote this summer.
Silence Runs Dry
Voices from the past echo through the room.
Silence runs dry.
My heart’s been struck by the moon.
Stars come tumbling down.
The forest shadows the sound.
If happiness lies behind me, what lies before me.
The rain falls toward the sky.
I stare from the ledge and see my life.
I turn away and cover my eyes.
I shouldn’t be alone but somehow I’ve made it my home.
I step back and fall.
Scream softly as you can.
My last resolution has been spent on somebody else.
I awake to see nothing and sleep to find hope.
At depth I am shallow for caring too much.
Within I am empty filled with unrealized dreams.
At length I have already failed myself.
In short I have not lived.
I close my eyes and pray.
The angels turn to dust and sparkle over the sea.
My mind fades to some distant memory.
The sun begins to rise and pour over my soul.
I am not who I think I am, and I am not who you see.
I just wish for once I could see where I was going.
All I ever wanted was to see where I was falling.
And bottled up inside of me…