I always have extra words, lost bits and
pieces never heard.
A small refrain or snippet of prose, left behind with
no place to go.
Silent companions of my midnight mind, stanzas and
juxtapositions left behind.
Like a film on the cutting room floor, are these pieces
of myself to be read nevermore?
Wasted ink, words to her turned to dust, I mourn the loss
of poems hushed.
If it were merely a comma or a period, here or there,
would I feel such deep despair?
Words fell away from a poignant ode where I tried to
state something more bold,
but my heart was gagged and my mind muted
with worries that my words may be refuted.
The weight of volumes unwritten, a silence that is so
heavy yet full of words that felt forbidden.
Thoughts unsaid, so many of love's buried emotions,
long ago tropes of lost devotions.
I long to paint a broader picture with inked thoughts
that come out richer.
Expressing my loss and pain, wanting words restored
from deep within for love lost again and again.
May I find what I lost and use them to erase
the cost of losing both her and my words, hoping
someday they will be heard.
____________________________
Thanks for reading! - Sam
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About the Creator
ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY
Sam Harty is a poet of raw truth and quiet rebellion. Author of Lost Love Volumes I & II and The Lost Little Series, her work confronts heartbreak, trauma, and survival with fierce honesty and lyrical depth. Where to find me
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith5 days ago in Humor
Comments (6)
This was so poignant yet so beautifully written. Sending you lots of love and hugs ❤️
I relate to this Sam. I have so many lines, stanzas, half-written songs, and titles hanging around in books and pieces of paper. I should collect the mall together into one mother-of-all-mother poem and call it a mish-mash. Nice job.
So sad Sam. Writing is beautiful ✍️🏆🍀🍀🍀🍀
<3 beautiful <3
Aww I hope you find words too, to express your feelings and use it as therapy. Even if its not read. Love the struggle expressed in this poem, it's relatable.
Yay Canada!