I can’t say that logic is preferable, more so
it is an idea, a buttered notion that goes against
the core beliefs that one harbors
as a romantic Poet, that being said;
I’d like to think that certain revelations of truth
occur when one is alone
with his or her thoughts and feelings;
would we learn that to melt is akin to snowfall
touching the skin.
Misread I may be, but inconspicuous I most
certainly am not;
I draw from the depths of sensibility,
so that I may discern waves that tenderly brush
against the sky,
I hold fervor as seeds in the cup of my hand,
and strive to pour on paper,
so that you can meet me on the other side of
it’s really not that hard to accomplish if that’s
what I decide to do.
This is my confession; from the very first
storm I have felt
poetry erupt in the heart’s city at dusk,
and ever since then
I have waltzed with runaway yesterdays,
twirling under the moon
as the last blooms of the season retire,
I figure Lord Byron wouldn’t be displeased.
And though I have seen some truly harrowing
things in life,
I know what it is to grow,
it can be useful when one wishes to simultaneously
bring forth an image or quality into focus–
I sift cemeteries and rose gardens
on days when the world feels like it has come
to an end,
it’s not the first time that woe’s cold kiss is
frosting my breath.
I am a romantic Poet, who sometimes confuses
her own heartbeat with footsteps,
though it hasn’t been a total loss,
the last time I checked; oh look, the sun’s starting to set.
Photo credits: Pinterest
For my prompt on dVerse as we step into the new year 2024, where I invite others
to write using Litotes. Come join us!