Epiphany (maybe?)

I want to do more with my poetry. I want to write it more. And let it be seen more . . . because it’s a brilliant way to let off steam, or just to let your feelings out. Some of my poetry has been rubbish. And I mean R-U-B-B-I-S-H  rubbish. But it got my thoughts and my feelings out, and made me feel better.

               

So I’m gonna write it more. Yup.

I just looked on my computer and found the first poem I ever wrote. Ever! Here it is:

Assassins Die, Death Screams

He walked along the narrow bridge

Looking for his kill

There she was

In all God’s beauty

Crying out in anguish.

He snuck around the few trees still standing

His long hands curling, unfurling the death of more trees

The woman looks to him, eyes longing for forgiveness

He cannot do this, his own pride and joy

Yet he gathered the shadows, and swung them with glee.

She shrieks as they strike her

Piercing her soul

She writhes in agony

Her body lurching

She sees him come close. Death.

He screams at the loss

His own killing machine

How could he do it

Again and again?

A new name on the list. Kill.

That was my first ever bit of poetry, and you know why I wrote it? I was depressed. Severely. And writing normally just wouldn’t help me and I didn’t know what to do—so I randomly wrote the first line of the poem, hoping that this story would finally help . . . and then it turned into a poem because I accidentally pressed the ‘Enter’ button. And thus my poetry was born.

So, as I step up a level in my poetry, why not starts your journey with your own . . . what’ve you got to lose?