frame pictures in shoe box were 6 years dusty
a lifetime has leaped from carefree smiles to today,
that suddenly the dam burst, frothing of words
he never knew: sadness, angst, love uprooted so quickly
he wrote feverishly - pages upon pages,
the birthing easy, like a quick sprint to paper mill,
muscles relaxed, breathing easy, then fast
as release came, furious like raging bull
charging the streets, torrential flood of youth's passion
he pumped his muscles until it was firm and unyielding
of his journey, words became sharper and shades deeper,
only now, the birthing became more and more labored
it felt like a sharp knife in his chest, a stake deepening,
claws knotting his veins with each tug and pull,
driving him crazy in the lonely hours of night,
so after months of writing, he decided to
stop -
let the words
sway in quiet contemplation, like the sea
waiting for the ship to plumb its depths,
bowstring curled still in lover's fingers,
unknowing when
they will meet again
Posted for the OpenLinkNight of Real Toads (Monday) and D'verse Poets Pub (Tuesday).
My son and I wrote poetry at about the same time last year, but he has stopped writing, while I have continued.
picture credit: here
