Pondering Hope
What is it about poetry that you have to feel it? I have written the most intricate compositions and haven’t felt a thing, I have stared right into letters, words, conjugations and haven’t felt a thing, I have tried to write, but I just keep not feeling.
In writing, that’s the thing about failing… words… they can weigh so much, but only in matters of the heart, otherwise I wholeheartedly believe they are meaningless.
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Maybe no, maybe some random guy in Ethiopia or Canada finds my words deep and sensitive. Maybe there is still hope for my thinking out loud. I dunno, you tell me, I am lost right now.
Could I be a poet? Could I string my ordinary thoughts into a story, better yet, a emotion? Could I shake your apparent stillness? Could I destroy reason?
Give me hope, don’t let me just die in frustration, let my soul bleed out in the paper and know that even the tiniest smile is spreading in someone else’s expression. Let me believe that poetry is omnipresent and almighty, no matter how small, no matter how unintentional. Let me live believing, let me die knowing.
