The poet has no choice, but to write down every word - dripping, bleeding, oozing from the heart, in waves of blue.
No force against it stands when they declare, debate, demand, emotion wins the war, when waged with weeping words.
Some have tried to hold them back, stop the raging, roaring track- with fragile trains made out of brokenness and pain.
But very few have found success, much less, write of happiness, until the price for hurt, is called out by its name.
So, show some mercy for the ones, writing till the morning sun, releasing strong emotions, back into the void.
Sharing another lover's scar, saving the next fragmented heart - from the emptiness of the broken and destroyed
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
If you like what you read, feel free to leave a tip, I would love some feedback
Find me on twitter @kelli7958958
or facebook
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.