A few years back, I cut my hand
And blood fell on the sand.
I didn't know that it would sting
As much as love does hurt a king...
At first I screamed and yelled in pain,
I was alone! Else I would fain
To feel nothing and shrug it off,
Desguising agony with endless coffs.
And yet my solitude was hard to place:
I didn't hide, for shame, my face
But looked around me in despair
And like a child, I couldn't bear
That painful wound, it wasn't fair!
Author's Notes/Comments:
Pretending to be strong comes naturally to us all. In front of a world that judges the weak, we wish to stand tall and proud... But what if there was no one to pretend for anymore? Would you keep lying to yourself or would that weakness engulf you in a despair that only the ones who have expirienced true solitude can understand... 'Some people prefer loneliness, but there is no one who can withstand it'- I stand speechless and bewildered at the veracity of that phrase...
Strength of character is
Strength of character is something everyone has...but the strong use it....that's all it is.
....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
:D
:D