To my Beloved

blahh. putting up a valiant effort against this block. whatever~ Love, again. u.u

You are the book:
    I've tried so hard to open,
    though my fingers kept slipping
    on your beautiful cover.

You are the poem:
    I've tried so hard to write,
    though every time I got too close
    I gave up on imperfections.

You are the song:
    That's played along in silence
    through every phase of my life,
    I heard it loud and clear.

You are the book, the poem, the song,
The one purpose for my chest
    to rise and fall.

You are the book:
    I turned pages in earnest,
    A desire to read, to know,
    To love every word.

You are the poem:
    I found written in the snow,
    Foreign to pen for its honesty,
    And endearing in mistakes.

You are the song:
    I heard my heart humming,
    The first night I surrendered   
    My outcome to the fates...

To you-

Author's Note

yeah, it's imperfect. Any tips for punctuation or whatever would be greatly appreciated. I've been poetically stagnant too long from life and its drama getting in the way. I NEED to grow as a poet~ help me.

Reviews

[Mark]

Aimee, your words are without flaw. There has only EVER been one cure for the imaginary ailment called Writer's block, and that it writing. We become so anxious of what people will think of it, and by inference, of US, that we fail to heed our own heart's continual cry to be heard. I promise you this: Put a clean sheet on the table before you, put a pen in your hand, be silent, and words will flow. They have no choice BUT to flow! The overflow of our hearts is what drives us to seek love, and drives us to write.
That said, I would suggest (as you requested) that these lovely words be rearranged a mite. I feel that the poem would have greater impact if the two "Book" stanzas were combined, as well as the two "Poem" and the two "Song" satnzas, and the fourth st. were moved to the end, as a recap, a summation:

You are the book:
I've tried so hard to open,
though my fingers kept slipping
on your beautiful cover.

I turned pages in earnest,
A desire to read, to know,
To love every word.

You are the poem:
I've tried so hard to write,
though every time I got too close
I gave up on imperfections

I found written in the snow,
Foreign to pen for its honesty,
And endearing in mistakes....et cetera

I hope this Joy for life that you've recently rediscovered takes you far! These first three offerings are quite lovely, empowering, and encouraging! Hang in there, girl!












I've tried so hard to open,
though my fingers kept slipping
on your beautiful cover.