I can’t say that logic is preferable, more so 
than emotion, 
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; 
how else  
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 
my words– 
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! 🩷

Posted for Poetics: Litotes of Yesterday @dVerse Poets Pub