Scripturam
Words have a pulse,
They bleed and they bruise,
Like a heart’s beating impulse,
Only that you get to choose.
Like a scream gone ignored,
Or a sob in dark, behind closed doors,
There’s nothing worse than moving towards,
A life, you know, not meant to be yours.
Words have a bite,
They stab and they poke,
These things that I write,
The fires they stoke.
Shaping abstract thoughts,
Into feasible delights.
Wrestling words out of mind,
Unto paper,
It’s a most unholy fight.
But words have a touch,
They cry and they sing,
To some, they’re not much,
But to me, they are everything.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: