Wednesday, February 22, 2012

An Old, New Blog

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The Loss of Pride

In my worried head
I planned a gentle discussion.
I made it a point
Not to be bossy.
I know you hate that.

I said, "can you" instead of "won't you"
"Try to" instead of "I want you to".
I heard my quietness.
My pride, bleeding
On the floor.

You enjoy the power
My weakness
Gives you.
As I try to hide
Behind stubborn eyes.

NO.
I don't ask you again.
You shan't reconsider.
Breath punched out of my lungs
I'm sorry you said, "No."

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

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