The Poetry Marathon

Being alive in a world half-dead

Is torture in itself

For all the skins and tears and words that I have shed

No one will know as they collect dust on my shelf.

Let me sleep, Lords of creativity

I will spill more words tomorrow,

free me of this generous captivity

I will break my heart again, tomorrow.

“The night is for sleeping” they told me

Little did they know, I was working through divine decree

Burning the midnight oil, I was setting my thoughts free

I was letting my stories see

And it is in the darkness that I could best be

The most fruit-yielding tree

Wouldn’t you agree?

Dear Stranger,

I am about to disclose all my secrets

and put your heart at danger

turn your nights sleepless

I will spill my heart and all its stories

and I trust you will listen intently

will listen to my fall and glories

and smile at my foolishness gently

I will pour it out till I am empty inside

so that I can begin anew

and you can leave with new stories and pride

that you relieved me of a past and I thank you.

Eyes drooping and face shadowed by sleep

and still hours of creativity to sweep

limbs chained down

with new words that I juggle around

dragging around a body made of lead

I ignore the temptations of my bed

and struggle on, battle conviction

graced by all forms of poetry, prose and fiction.

“How are you?”

Broken and shattered with no direction

stung with rejection

but my smiles still lying to perfection

“How are you?”

lost, unsure, drenched in desolation

doubting my very creation

but my decisions still faking a healthy foundation

“How are you?”

alone, angry and mostly grieving

all solace constantly leaving

but my life trusts me, always deceiving

You fly so high

a humble little bird,

dear sparrow

I have always admired

your ways, little bird

that show freedom with humility

You are so tiny, yet

so brave, so beautiful

to have conquered the sky

if only a part of it.

I had expected more, heart-breaker

someone dangerous, a taker

but you were lovely from the beginning

I never realized my heart broken meant you were winning.

It is morning now so I need not be afraid

The demons can no longer play with my dread

Longing will have to wait out the day light

Loneliness may still strike

But because it is light now, so bright

I may have the strength to fight

The shadows menacingly cheerful

It is morning now so I need not be fearful.

My little, selfless heart pumping away

pumping away though nights and days

through my arms and legs and then back again

while I;ve walked and jumped and while I’ve lain

My little heart, pumping away