A poem is a ripple
From a wave called grief
Never perfect with its order
But almost constant with its beat
One after another
I see them surge into the shore
Some can be seen clearly
But others vanish just before
If they only slightly touch
I hear a whisper of a rhyme
I don’t even try to write them
Because they'll build if given time
The strong ones crash against me
With a force that makes me write
Once down they then recede
And give me peace for just one night
No matter what I try
The waves they never truely cease
The ripples always changing
Small expressions of my grief
Quite well said Haley, the ripples of thought that form the poems are a wonderful ebb and flow rythm with a soothing relief as they leave our pens
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the emotions are very beautifully woven into words.there are some pain which cant be ever be settled but then there are some memories which can take away the gloominess from this pain