Finding A Place

Words can no longer

express the passion,

the emotion,

that I feel...

each and every day.

The stories I write,

with broken hands;

ideas that do not exist,

crafted from a wet sand,

and molded by bloodied fists.

The poetry that bleeds

from my open wounds,

the words I read and read,

over and over,

inside this hollow room.

Forcing my dreams to breathe,

before their eventual death.

I fear that they, too,

shall bleed,

and all the rest.

It is a burden,

to create; to craft,

and to shape things

into an existing

aftermath.

Though, this may be true,

it is also a rather warming gift.

To cherish, and to love,

just as how I felt for you...

as you allowed for me to live.

You are gone, now. And so am I.

Memories, thrown into outer space,

that compel me to wonder why...

the lost ideas, and empty thoughts;

why they never found their place.

Reviews

[Ella]

This is so beautiful. I found myself relating to these words as if they were narrating my life. You did, as you always do, a lovely job! Keep it up!

[Mercy Fae]

The imagery used here is very powerful.

Well done.

[Robert Parlange]

I like the way poets put abstract ideas into corporeal form. People don't usually understand creativity. Especially writing. Most people would never think they could paint a landscape or write a symphony, yet everyone thinks they could write a novel or short story or a poem if they could only find the time. They seem to think it is so easy.

Your poem describes just how difficult the creative act can be. To form something from nothing.

Very good.

[dan]

Writing while encased within a dark space often can be the birthplace of the most compelling lines for poetry, but even while writing it can be so painstakingly dismal and gloomy, maybe making the darkness more grim. A sad way to get over the blues or worse. Nicely done, Brian. take care...dan

[SheIsMe]

I got a sense of suffocation from this. Reading through I almost felt like I couldn't breathe. So often I've felt the same, yet you so eloquently put it to words when I could not. The very last line was fleeting. As if it were to be read in a whisper. Such a good write.

[Coyote Poetry]

Words. Are released and can be tattoos. I wonder did Hemingway release demons into his books or did the memories of life make him drink and find suicide?
"You are gone, now. And so am I.
Memories, thrown into outer space,
that compel me to wonder why...
the lost ideas, and empty thoughts;
why they never found their place."
The above lines I do understand. Some memories haunt us and some memories can make us smile. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[zaisham9393]

This is the best poem of yours.I loved it, the rhyme scheme was awesome and you expressed the emotions so well, I am sure many can relate with this poem which is the best part about it.
You are an amazing writer :)
thanks for sharing :)

[wordman]

a deep write my friend,really enjoyed the read

[Emily]

The 3rd stanza is my favorite!
Love this poem!
Keep it up!!

[PoeticChico]

Brian, this is a very interesting piece. but it left me with so many questions, maybe that's the intention. Can I ask: What inspired you to write this? whats the experience behind it?
Overall great work!