“The ashes of a burnt mind might as well manifest into a phoenix, for a loss this grave has to be compensated.”
I tell myself as I try to put into words what’s been fueling this fire,
“Maybe” I say, “expressing these demons exposes their reality, shakes off the halo of fear and exaggeration surrounding them.”
Sometimes it works, oftentimes it doesn’t.
Expressing them, at times, only breathed more life into them, solidified their existence and allowed them to persist in the form of a retrievable composition.
Despite the risk, I’ll never break off this habit, even when what comes out of the ashes is no longer mystical, because I write for the future.
When what’s left of this mind is what survived the fire, or what’s been shaped up by it, I’d like to still remember; what fuel created this fire, what fire broke through this mind.
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Author:
Seba Qaddorah (
Offline) - Published: March 30th, 2023 16:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments1
our poetic ink, forged
in that crimson survival, grind
we pen our truths
expecting, chaos to reveal itself
in those blurred lines, between
eloquence and punctuation,
each poem
a ballad to our wailing birthright's
fight
to empty facades from our lives!
'we truth scribblers, few'
do so gather and vanquish
society's demeaning, mirages
and excuses
ever-questing
for sincerity's wisdom isles
dogpaddling syllables to traverse
every blank canvas, we so
meaningfully tattoo
with our undisputable, worth!
and so
dear Poet kin, swim free
soar high
and ink proud
your poetry's, enlightening song
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