Once upon a time I had a gift although certain circumstances made me afraid to use it.....Back then I could take meaningless words, just nonsense make them my own...make them into music.
I used to write poetry
There was a time anything I wanted to say was a second away all I had to do was mean it.....The words within my jumble of papers stood out like sky scrapers....clear images like I really seen it.
I used to write poetry
Before I could explore from everyday to never more every whisper every word.....Before was the shore blue skies and seas beautiful in its allure.....that sight is no longer seen and that voice no longer heard.
I used to write poetry
One time at will your heart I could fill with emotion and constant light......Too much to take in with the sweep of my pen.....you felt my endless war my endless fight
I used to write poetry
More than just a ramble sometimes it was a gamble to let others know how I feel....In a world so forsaken it might leave you shaken.....to be the only one who will stay real
I used to write poetry
It used to be full of meaning with a end and beginning when it used to be about the love of the writing and never about losing or winning about her and him and never about me about what we felt and how we fell how we got up what we said and what we didn't tell. About what was right and what was wrong was short justice and what was long a story never told or a voiceless song. Words about pain words about strife words for tears words for life words that became vision sight that is powerless without the words it was given. Used to be things that rhymed one after another things that were meant to be and things that should have never met each other. poetry about wisdom and endurance what you needed through the rain poetry about the blood that dripped from our veins onto the paper on which I wrote we spoke. spoke about truth…truth that was sometimes lies…lies that were truths that we knew but hurt too much inside. we spoke about love. we spoke about hate. we spoke about the paper which created our escape. a place the chains of time could never touch a place in which who you were not what you had meant as much a place so far a place so far far away where the air does not reach and we can be never again. we spoke about the comfort of having that one friend. the page is the one place you would ever or could ever notice me I used god I really used to write......
Poetry
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