I helped my creative writing club at college put on a poetry reading today, by bringing food, drinks and poems to verbalize. Since the event is fresh on my mind, I’m going to rewrite a poem today from memory that I wrote some years ago (it’s a long one, so I think it makes up for my normal journal entry). It has a blitzing cadence when I read it out loud, see what you think. It’s about forbidden love.

What is the nature of our journey?
What the task we’re set to do?
What the trials we pull through
or failures we keep turning
And who’s to set the number?
What’s the time when time is right?
When am I unencumbered?
And who will pity my plight?

And who’s to judge when love is wrong?
What voice would silence beauty’s song?
And when the day is running long
from night into another
who sits beside me, guiding me,
providing me advice I need
when every time I writhe and plead
I find myself alone?
Who will help alleviate the seeds that I have sown?
Or is it, indeed, even I
who cultivates full grown
the dreams of deeds
falling like beads
down through my mind to find my heart?
Tell me, can it be so
that someone else may have imparting
some of that which has been started?
Every flick’ring glance that’s darted
through uncharted waters
through the coral reefs of terror
as some happy, woeful bearer
of the joy of Zeus’s daughters
finds me always unprotected
finds my heart, so long neglected
this emotion has infected me
down to my deepest core.

Again, I ask you:
is it wrong? This song that I am singing?
And the tidings I’m not bringing?
You are ringing in my mind
my heart
my soul is humming melodies
my soul is humming
fingers drumming
tumbling! tumbling!
and I fight it when I can
and ask again about the ban:
is it right?

It shouldn’t be so complicated
I should let it go, they say
but even so
Yes, even so
I love you
it’s so simple
and it doesn’t NEED explaining
in the time that’s slowly waning
what are any of us gaining sitting here and growing older
while the season waxes colder?
Shouldn’t warmth be what we’re seeking?
Every breath that we aren’t speaking
should be spent together blissfully
not lonesome, far and wistfully
but such is not the case
it is so far to fall from grace.

I find again that I am torn
and every rose will have its thorn
each stabbing sweetness I have bourn
mocks cruelly of completeness
each unruly dream I can’t put down
brings a smile that fades to frown
and deep within my eyes of brown
one looking closely might see you
in more times than a few.

And I’ve made too much of it all,
I’ve paced it up and down the hall
and masqueraded at the ball
for all that, it’s not faded.
I’m no monster,
nor am jaded,
just perhaps it’s all related
but I know that nothing ‘s fated
nothing written in the stone
for the smitten and alone
just a girl to call my own
was all I asked for.


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