I have not written any poem in a while, I know... The longer I put it aside the less I waned to write. Actually, there lies a certain fear inside me. (You'll see.) But when I started my first line, the rest of it showed up. So there... This poem put me at ease, but I shouldn't be at too ease. I gotta hit my poetry home more often...
**********************************************************
Poetry comeback
My fear is this:
One day I will wake up
unable to write a poem.
No such fear for drawing,
no such fear for singing a song, but
as I live my everyday life
so away from poetry,
without a notice
it may depart me
for good.
The prodigal son is
finally home, but
no one's home,
no poetry's at the door.
The empty house is
ringing with my voice,
Let me write you once again
For the very one last time!
I will wait.
Perhaps there are times when
poetry wants to be the
prodigal son, and
when he longs to come home
too.
**********************************************************
Poetry comeback
My fear is this:
One day I will wake up
unable to write a poem.
No such fear for drawing,
no such fear for singing a song, but
as I live my everyday life
so away from poetry,
without a notice
it may depart me
for good.
The prodigal son is
finally home, but
no one's home,
no poetry's at the door.
The empty house is
ringing with my voice,
Let me write you once again
For the very one last time!
I will wait.
Perhaps there are times when
poetry wants to be the
prodigal son, and
when he longs to come home
too.
