The Poetry Marathon

The voices once quiet,
The ones unheard, ignored,
Even silenced at times.
They get louder. They echo
In chambers we built
To contain them.

But the cycle never ends.

The voices get louder.
The faces get seen.
No longer veiled by
The darkness we impose.

They speak of such horrors
We cover our ears.
We cover our eyes.
Their reality is not ours.

And the cycle never ends.

We take their words and
Attempt to change them.
We hide behind the ways
They chose to say them.
We draw the line between
What’s real for them and us.

So the cycle never ends.

They say that success
Can be broken down
Into fractions

They say it’s a mere one
Percent talent
With ninety-nine
Percent work

But without motivation
This equation
Is incomplete

Taking your voice
And giving it – but not away
To others
Who are less fortunate
And can’t afford
To have their own

Yours will be heard
Will echo – far
Carrying their lives
That some of them
Live not by choice

Wow, what a year.

Both globally and in some ways personally for me.

I actually nearly forgot that the poetry marathon is already this weekend, somehow it felt farther in the future.

I signed up for the full marathon, but I will be doing most of it while in bed on painkillers, and I hope I will manage to complete.

If not, at least I will have tried and I will have written something.

Bring on the 2020 marathon.

Edit/update: I love doing the full marathon, but due to health reasons and unforeseen circumstances I will have to limit myself to a half marathon this year. Otherwise I would probably fail… Trying to set realistic expectations for myself. Fingers crossed for a good half one!

There was a time, once
when I didn’t think I would ever turn on
an electronic device to write a
creative piece,
that I have thought of,
in my head in black and white,
instead of using paper
and a pen to write with.
I always preferred black ink over blue,
and squares over lines.

The line used is from the poem in the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower: once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

It doesn’t start like this
Not with the soft centre
Not with the creamy texture of it
It’s never that simple

You can’t skip the shell
The crunchiness
The pleasant hardness
That keeps its shape

Please don’t ignore
The outer layers
Of baked goods

The hardest things to say
are I love you, forgive me, and help me
in ascending order.
We refrain from those words,
their combinations,
the vulnerability they provide.
The damage they cause
to our fragile “selves”.

Regrets among the living
to be carried into the world
of the after. By those who remain.
Through prayers and hopes,
the dreams and the notes,
the words spoken to the invisible listener.
The words audible only to ourselves.
The words that were locked,
the ones that were painful,
come out so easily,
when the addressee can no longer hear.

I only did the 60 seconds and 90 seconds bits, but still marking it as prompt response.

The stones have been there
since the beginning
no, not of time
perhaps of our time
of our time in that place

The stones have served
as a marker, as a title
as a force, a reminder

They hold the secrets
of talks overheard
of kisses and misses
they witnessed
of bodies discovered
and those that were lost

5 years of love
of overcoming the distance
of travels, hellos and goodbyes

5 years of love
have brought us much closer
even if sometimes
so far apart

5 years of love
such a single
modest digit
but the count is still on

5 years of love
will not be measured
by time alone

Abandon all fear
he who enters here
Abandon all cause
for distress and unease
Abandon your deadlines,
alarms and reminders
Give in to the flow
of time that’s unmeasured
Make plans that will never
become out of date
Abandon your purpose
and let your mind wander
when boredom seeps in
on the rainiest day

Inspired by one of the poetry prompt pictures, as well as a thought I’ve had written down in my notebook from a source I no longer remember: Millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.