Last night, I was reading on steemit and I came across a post by @maverickfoo that talked about how writing at night was good and how ideas garnered at that time were usually great ones.
I decided to try my hands at writing while almost falling asleep and these two poems are what my thoughts birthed.
First Poem
I always write with a bleak view of the world in my vision. I don't always write of beauty and love. This might be a bad thing but sometimes the world is just not pretty, you know?
The poem came out from my vision of those of us who are struggling, seeking hope from anyone, anywhere.
SOME OF US ARE DONE
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Those of us broken
like old trees, struck down
like war torn soil, are here.
We are folded like fishes out of sea,
our hearts cradled in our arms like gifts,
like paper planes finding the sky
with scribbled prayers, petitions
on bleeding lips that mutter and titter.
Those of us worn
like old clothes, torn
like bullet ridden corpses
folded in little graves like pebbles
on the sucking cheek of little kids, are here.
We are wetting your feet with waters
from within the desert of our parched skin
like parchments seeking knowledge
with scribbled truths, proofs
on empty eyes that seek and seek.
Those of us done
like a robbed grave
like a ghost seeking heaven and finding hell,
roaming like the wind seeking rain, are here.
We are berthing at another shore
seeking home in the laps of new seas
in the honeyed welcome of strange faces,
in the emptiness that will always come.
Second Poem
This poem is a testament of what I feel inside as a poet. I have a skewered view of myself and the world about me. So much of my truth can be found within the rhyme and rhythm of my poetry. I am a warped being and I can't pretend otherwise.
WARPEDPOETIC
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I am warped through and through
And
My song gives no relief.
I am a broken chair
Leaning on its thoughts
Watching it's shadow rise
To
The moon, the sun, forgotten
In the dungeon of night.
I am a pale picture
Of all that remains,
A lost letter
Seeking lips
To whisper, to forgive, to love.
I am a quenched thirst
Seeking redemption
In a fountain's heart, in a mermaid's hair.
I am nothing to see,
Like new notes;
I have no story to tell.
Thank you for sharing parts of me within your thoughts. You, only you can say if these works of my hands are as good as I and @maverickfoo thought they could be.
Do have a splendid day today. I hear kids reciting states and capital and nostalgia for those simple days grips me. So I am grabbing my duvet after this post and going back to sleep.