Poetry

Introductions are difficult

Placing one foot forward, a breath to inhale
Shaking, an attempt to steady
An obvious fail

A current, a rush, as she begins to flush
Full steam ahead, screams the throttled pulse
Pounding in her head

Silence falls with the lights
An illusion of night
Wound tight, her thoughts wrapped neatly
Collected, uniquely
Cradled completely

A touch shatters the sense of calm
It's now her turn to go on

Placing one foot forward, a breath to exhale
Steady, unshaken
Control she has taken

A smile, relaxing, as all begin clapping
This moment, her history in the making
Impressions she must leave
If she ever wants to please

Silence resumes to the room filled
An illusion of empty, steady and still
Unwinding, her thoughts neatly
Displaying completely
Posed to reveal sweetly

Oh my! She exclaims.
As a thousand thoughts burst her head
Unraveling, unwinding, spinning, and grinning
A rainbow of color, exploding instead
Dancing and prancing, filling the air
Silence no longer found anywhere

Frozen in time, her actions held mute
As every piece of her shows through
Flashes of brilliance, faults in all
Why is no one making the curtain fall?

Wanting to run, hidden in fright, beguiled
Untamed and wild, rants her inner child
Shut up! Shut up! But she won't listen
For in the crowd all faces glisten

An impression she made, for more than a day
As whispers gasped through every home behind hand
Did you see her on display?
Why can't every poet die that way?

Author's Note

/Seshat-Nibada-Woodpress-Challenge

Reviews

[....................]

When we write we write for ourselves (primarily), however, when we share that writing, well, it takes on a new life and must be performed so that the audience can either find their way through the piece or gain something personal from it. I perform music regularly and though I am not given to butterflies or nervousness, a tick in my nature I guess, I felt it in the beginning of this piece. I love how the poet has a nervous and exhilarating energy about her in the first few stanzas and then takes control in the fifth. And by the end she has become a volcano of wonderment, soaking in how much the audience loves her and are clapping for her. And, for the record, don't we all wish we could d'die' that way? This was an awesome write - thanks for sharing!

[Malen]

Yes, exactly.
Sometimes, when we try to control it, holding it too tight
We "kill" ourselves, our accomplishment; which would have
Prospered if we just let our inner child take control.

And yes, not all of us want an audience to our tragic deaths, especially
On stage, unraveled in front of everyone.
But, the audience sure seems to love the tragic deaths.

[....................]

Ah, yes they do.

[Amelia May]

I... Loved... This! I am having a hard time finding anything I do not like on this site.
I do have one question though, are you describing a dancer? A speaker? I was getting different vibes, but towards the end you said "why can't every poet die that way?" Are you talking about a poet? I would like to know what poet if so. I truly loved this! MAGNIFICENT!

[Malen]

Thank you for your uplifting words, they mean so much!

In answer to your question, I tend to write openly, so that the reader
may be carried away to their own place.
In my mind; however, I was picturing a girl who is about to read her poetry
out to a crowd for the very first time, at a olden theater where those who
watch you are the prospectors for fame.
In this case, the girl was nervous yet composed, waiting her turn.
Eager to become a poet. She began and ended on that stage,
as she fell to the tragedy of fear. In that death, she became known
in every household as a great poet, as many do upon their death.
She felt her performance as a bursting mess while losing control,
but truly it was seen as wild and free.
An ode of sorts to the great lost minds.
I love that you felt a dance, as poetry can be such in words.

[Amelia May]

Ah. Thank you for such a quick response. I guess poetry truly only can be perceived through the readers eyes. =)