suppressing sentimentality, to ensure sanity
to not witness rejection, and so
i do not speak
not allowing actions to surface since
fear always fills me, uncertain of reciprocation
decisions clash with desires
i do not speak.
the soul craves to love,
beyond suppression, beyond shackles
though fear oversees
limits are set in place
lips are sealed,
and i do not speak.
Original poem by Harley Pennington
This poem is about the inability to love to ones opt most potential due to the fear it wont be reciprocated. I decided to write this poem with the focus around repeating the sound of the letter “S” to create a better flow of the narrative. The use of enjambment is also present to create emphasis on the message behind the poem.
About the Creator
Harley Pennington
Aspiring writer :)
Instagram: Harleyy.pennington
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtisa day ago in Humans
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