is the tongue that sips passion,
pushing back slippery secrets,
selective of what she shares,
starring senselessly into her blue eyes,
those blue barrels of ocean sky,
whisper sorrows of yesterday.
sensational, she looks,
pursed lips covered in red,
staining the cup clasped to her hands,
clenching cold pottery,
glazed to stillness,
it holds cinnamon and espresso,
once clay crumbling in warm hands,
molding and morphing,
for a chance to sit envied in coffee shops.
a holder of cappuccino dreams,
a home to brewed batches,
burnt ethiopian caramels drifting,
across a southern spring breeze,
pulling in crowds of christian couples,
and students pressing fingers into keyboards,
eager to reach their degree.
widened eyes, crossing a maize of chairs,
destined to shake hands they've never known,
to check off trivial milestones set in middle school rooms,
all to pay the bills and maybe, just maybe,
while clenching clay molds,
close to our hearts,
as we confess our sorrows,
dazzling under dimmed lights,
with indie rock,
holding space for the entire universe.
sensational are her curls,
bouncing as she laughs,
remembering five years ago,
when she was someone she barely knows now,
a passing glance,
when she first sat in cushioned chairs,
pleading to walk towards purpose,
reach the milestone, check the list,
"congratulations, you are sensational my dear,"
are the words i finally tell myself,
sitting carelessly in coffee shops,
pulling out old blank pages of yellow design,
to put into words the chaos that often fuels my mind,
but today, i feel sensational,
therefore, i must confess,
my tongue has tasted the passion,
it can no longer push back slippery secrets,
no longer selective of what i share,
after starring senselessly into my own blue eyes,
i see the ocean looking back,
endlessly beautiful, i am enamored at her strength,
no fire breathing dragons,
just the enemy of my own mind,
the core element of my own demise,
a fugue and fungal depression,
parasitic at best,
minimizing my own self worth,
to eradicate the hope that still burns bright,
a fairy tale - modern day,
how sensational... these blessings,
with empty hands,
no cars, no boats,
no castle, nor treasures of gold,
only a heart that feels less heavy,
from the beauty of letting go.
this cup and my heart,
so similar by design,
to be held.
thanks to living and loving,
and sensational thoughts,
i've let go and become malleable again,
a sustainable heart.
for once i returned to shop where it came,
asked for one new,
this old heart cannot handle much,
when its been used and abused,
the clay molder, witty and kind,
took hammer to my heart,
and showed me whats truly inside.
pieces of me shattered across the floor,
i cried and i laughed to see there were four.
one piece that lay porous, of which was my worth,
head facing down, i nearly forgot,
what it was like to live without thoughts.
to live without envy, gluttony, rage, or pride,
to live without that voice denying my time,
petty yet principled, it knows my name,
denying me access to my own life's gain.
as i look up, the great craftsman sees,
i'm ready to let go and start to live free,
so grasping the piece, he repairs the parts,
filling it with gold that i once believed i'd lost,
"what about these three?" i asked still starring at the floor,
"those are for me to hold, until you feel ready for more,"
curious as ever, i raised an eyebrow,
the craftsman laughed and asked,
"is your worth not enough? do you not feel content?"
"well, what am i, without your consent?"
"oh dear child," said the craftsman picking up each piece,
"you are worthy alone, and deserve to feel sensational peace."
"replace power with purpose and watch your life grow,"
the craftsman thanked me for visiting and sent me off to go,
i stood there for a moment, to take a deep breath,
my cup overfloweth,
i'll never forget.
such a sensational journey,
to dig deep into your soul,
coarse through your body,
to go through the open door,
paving pathways with poetry,
dancing through stanzas and rhymes,
sipping cinnamon, listening to chattering,
as you watch your brain unwind,
on yellow blank lines,
gazing momentarily into the force,
i find subliminally divine.
how beautiful it is to hold both a heart and a cup,
to feel its weight in your hands,
to hear the whispers of love,
a gift for each of us,
to know we are enough.
how beautiful it is,
to truly know our worth,
sensational indeed, as i relish this rebirth.
About the Creator
I am the moss silken on watered stones, rooted deep in rich soil. Earthen creature, I am the night sky -starry and strayed from the forgotten path of poets - I am, the chatter from the iron rails rattling as the train carries itself home.
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme