The Weapons of Poetry

I wonder how far these depths can take me

each word written opens the chasm further

Should I linger to see how far this abyss extends?

the poet's lyricism can soon become an unearthed obligation

Curiosity of the uncharted trumps my thirst for solace

I’ve been lost for so long that this state of ambivalance has morphed into my identity

I’m attached to the prospect of exploration, and part of me can live with this heartless state

So perhaps all this pain has become a weapon sharpened by words 

wielded only by those who’ve ruthlessly suffered

Maybe, the tribulations I’ve endured created my calling

I’ve been waiting for the fire to subside, not knowing the fire is what i’ve been waiting for

In the eye of the storm my purpose beckons for me

I am now engulfing the flames that burn inside

The paradox of this existence has become my paradigm

I propel through destruction and elevate by demise

I’ve become a Phoenix: pandemonium are my wings, havoc are my feathers, and fury gleams in my eyes