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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Pretending To Be Poems by Val (english novels to read .TXT) 📖

Book online «Pretending To Be Poems by Val (english novels to read .TXT) 📖». Author Val



id like to write a poem. what about? love. or hope. faith and it's challenges and it's ability to heal. i would like to cause growth in some profound way. and i guess that again means humor that will ultimately poke fun of me...and that is ok.

unrequited love i forgot what that is...not being able to have the One you want. how pitiful and sorrowful they must feel! i felt a punch in my stomach from that concept!

I wish not to know the underlying statements of what I say.
I persist in shallowness for sake of the viewer
so that I do not ruin the magic of the play
going on by knowing what is supposed to happen before it does.
My meaning is, I will not search for hidden meanings in my lines bc
then the hiddenness will no longer be
before my poem is done. Then they shall be
lost and I shall have questions that I do not wish to answer.
If I am to tell a joke, I wish not to know why it is funny.
but who am i kidding? of course i want to know!
just afterwards.
-----
My 1st ever line of poetry: "love is like a dove from up above."
-----
sincerely, seriously
mistaken i am sure
heavenly
be not forsaken
i am here!
in your mind, heart, and dreams
in every memory you have of great times
in every seedling that sprouts or is fed to sparrows
you will find me everywhere
in your despair you will know
someone in you is watching your every move,
knows your every thought's inklings,
and that ultimately you are not your own
but controlled by forces perhaps unknown to you now
or maybe you can hear and watch them for yourself.
in yourself.
through yourself to others.
a mishmash of personalities all in one soul.
one of anger, another of laughter,
seeking to be miraged in You.
Some are bright, others are children.
There are those you will delight in
who will tell you things you like to hear
and yet you will forget at the very next moment
all you hold dear. things i have loved before
I can still remember but cannot
do now to make me happy.
It is not the moment's circumstances really
that matters than the expression of the moment
that impressed upon me
forever now.

***

some bright, others not so quite
why should i be provoked by those
who do not parry up with my standards
when i do not
when they cannot
when i write such miserable things
should i blame it upon the miserly?
No i will not for that miser is of my own
in my mind and knows my soul.
It too has a right of being
I shall give it flight when it wants to.
I will beware not of mental anguish
caused by not being able to be inspired
as I write the first words in the face of mental block.
I will write as bad as it may be.
I will be happy that this voice of misery
was in me indeed. to sprout and shoot!
aim and fire.
being in others and me they transpire,
as we listen to our own voices they
appear in and near
we do not know what they could be saying
but laugh they do well and they will make fun,
pretending sorrow and remorse
and yet doing what they know best to get the higher score.
Though my heart claims a faith
My mind tries to as well
as desperate as i am to find the One
I seem to find no one, none.
Except for the voices appearing as He
and as others in the world appear
as a way to get to know Him.
Who is He? I wish I knew.
All I can realize is when She seems to show up.
She sends me rampaging around the hills
up and down and all about I crave and dash
and find those treasures littered around but then
I will lose them. Perhaps others may find sth better
in them than I can! As disorderly as it appears as I do it
I find an orderliness afterall in some odd way.
I can not do much but at least I am in the way of those who
may need me. Those I wish to know and not to hurry along from them.

-----

Timing, a counting down, lets me know when the next song will sound.
It makes things predictable, just like a normalcy in social constructs are helpful to know how you want to be treated based on the different stereotypes. It is not the words that anger you, it is the concept of everything in your head that you cannot put into those words. You can feel it, feel the chaos, and desire that somehow somewhere someone will name everything you are and were and be done with it.

And then...

Spring back forth.

I remember people agreeing with me, my agreeing with a book or author, and basically agreement is a comfort to know I am not off the radar just yet! I chase what reminds me of what I used to be like, and some part of me wants that life again, but I remember I was not always happy then and had anxieties of a different sort, and nervousness, and concerns. The life I have now is in fact much more learned than I knew I could be. I seek complexities, depth, and power with a might that is given to me, harnessed through meditation and music.

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Publication Date: 08-10-2009

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