Poetry

I don't know if this is a curse,

a skill, a gift or just another behavioral

problem but whatever this is I'm gladto have it.

For some awkward reason words

just come to my pencil like saliva

comes to my mouth. Its like thoughts are just

above my head and I can grab them any time

I want.

Sentences are like leaves on a tree,

branching out from my hand and

waiting for autumn to come so they

can fall right on my paper.

Verses are like napkins that clean clean my

heart's tears. Words, letters and languages

are my companion everywhere and anywhere.

These cry with me when in my deepest isolation

and laugh at the fact that i am happy with life.

Oh you wonderful world of melancholic phrases

and smiles, you seem to always find the right words

to fill my heart with desire and seduce me into thinking

that everything will be alright.

Oh great pen of my, you are my rightful owner,

landlord of my sonatas and anthems.

Poetry, you are the center of every single feeling. You

are motionless powerfu. You are without exception,

the only thing in this world I have completely control of.

Thank you for being There!