My Poetry Poem by Chantal Lammerts

“Poetry, ” they say, “is for the aching heart like lightning for haunted clouds, ”
Each word resembling a brilliant, unique line, which exposes the dark of the world’s roof,
Clouds, the souls of the sky, aching wordlessly, in mystery the soul is shroud,
Each sentence like a deep rumbling, it’s origin in heaven’s core, hear it move.

But although poetry is written on its finest, by a philosophizing, troubled man,
It is something that my mind cannot force my hand to write,
The emotions it calls upon, devastate me, I couldn’t take it any longer, I ran,
I wouldn’t know why I sit here, in front of the object of my desire, and listen to my heart recite.

But then, after all, the ink flows from my pen onto to no longer blank paper,
Expressing my thoughts and feelings that are not allowed out into the public,
I explain my fear, of all humanity in me flowing away, turning into nothing but vapor,
Do not think that I am merely depressed, it is just that I realize, these walls are far too thick.

Which walls, does this mad man write about? You may ask, and I would answer truthfully,
That it are, indeed, the words of mad man that make you ask the question above,
But these walls around my mind, shutting everyone out, need to be destroyed, finally,
This is why, I ask only one thing of you, darling, and this is your never ending love.

But as I know that it is impossible to achieve, and beyond unbearable to admit,
It hurts to see your dark brown eyes glisten of joy, like dazzling stars in the night,
My hand clutches the barstool; the other my pen, attempting to redirect the rage, I almost did,
My eyes darting between the almost full paper, and my love, I’m infuriated by the sight.

That man, compared to you, is nothing more than a worm compared to a lioness,
You, my love, strong and beautiful, him an insect under my shoe, or soon to be there,
It won’t be long, before I decide that it is time to act, away will be the stress,
You and I together, I’ll kill him, repair the life that, although not for long, is still unfair.

A/N: this was an assignment for school. We got a painting of a bar with 3 costumers and a barman. (one red haired woman, a man beside her and another man, his face covered by a classic hat) We had to write a crime story entry based on the scene in the painting... the next assignment was to write a poem from the POV of one of those people. I chose the 'murderer' in my story... so therefore the strange theme of the poem..

hope you liked it! ! xx Chantal please Review: P