The poet has no choice, but to write down every word - dripping, bleeding, oozing from the heart, in waves of blue.
No force against it stands when they declare, debate, demand, emotion wins the war, when waged with weeping words.
Some have tried to hold them back, stop the raging, roaring track- with fragile trains made out of brokenness and pain.
But very few have found success, much less, write of happiness, until the price for hurt, is called out by its name.
So, show some mercy for the ones, writing till the morning sun, releasing strong emotions, back into the void.
Sharing another lover's scar, saving the next fragmented heart - from the emptiness of the broken and destroyed
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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More stories from Kelli Sheckler-Amsden and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Devil's Cut
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
That's a great poem
A lot of truth, I missed this first time round
Such beautiful language filled with emotion. Loved it :)
Oh so tempting to change the poem of yours I chose for the upcoming article. Oh, you darn good poets!!!
Impressive!!! Loved it!!!
"dripping, bleeding, oozing from the heart", HOW did you make this sound so romantic and emotional?
Love the flow of this. Fantastic, my friend.