Poetry Prompt 6 – Free Verse

 

 

 

 

What I think about when I think about writing

Is a minuscule bit of chaos

Of predictions and assumptions

Entwining in bursts of emotion.

 

Writing a poem feels like possession

As if the words that come off the roll of my tongue

Belong to me, and are in my control

For that split-second, until someone else uses them

To create symbols out of the mere act of existing.

Words come to me like the water hits the rocks

(Occasionally in swift fervour)

Slowly, but steadily, rounding them

And moulding them to change them just enough

So that the ebbing tide doesn’t damage them in anguish.

 

Rereading a poem feels like home

As if the words escape paper and draw feelings in my mind

And knowing the endings gives me the comfort

That prophecies aren’t always all that mystic.

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