Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I realise I do not care for poetry of love but those of yearning and desire,
Their tugging fingers, trailing across my soul,
Of loss and grief and unfanthomable fear,
Once again, idle insecurity wells up within,
How fetchingly appropriate, just as I am unable to complete,
2500 words of historical drivel.
There's a writing competition held by Farrago at Uni in conjunction with the Art faculty. Would be interesting except I haven't written something I was happy with in a long time. And right now as I've hit 678 words of my much needed and much LATE essay, I'm thinking...I'd like to write a poem.
So I went scouting around for inspiration. The current fluttering happiness sent me off to Poets' Sanctuary, around the Hearts section. After 3 pieces, I choked and ran quickly to Angst section.
I can hardly believe that romanticism. Destroyed the english language, and .... forgive but I'm sure in my youthful days I must have partaked in the mangling with such words as........ fluttering >>.
Love....well love. Can it really be all clouds and star shine, ponies frolicking over hills and unreleased passion washing over a lover as they caress *coughcoughcough*
Ohhh, how old I've become. Onichan would be sure to sit here and say 'I told you so young grasshopper'.
Love well love....is just being comfortable. Atleast...that's what it feels like. Some may say it's boring, hardly a spark, and...well.....yeah......occasionally one expects the dozen roses and being swept up in a whirlwind of romance and kisses. How would that create a spark, one innocent question rises...well...it creates the situation for sparks, and don't anyone dare to drag evolutionary conception into this discussion >>. Still.....
It's being able to hug someone with all your strength and not feel shy. It's being able to be silly and stupid and insecure and not feel challenged.
It's about being able to laugh and cry, and then kiss them on the nose and curl up in their arms.
It's about being to watch a movie and having fun.
It's about holding their hands and feeling safe.
It's about missing them every day yet knowing they are there the next day.
It's about whining and complaining then sneezing into their pillow as you laid there miserable but comforted because they are there and they still love you.
It's about ups and downs and all those times in between when they let you pounce on them and drag them for hot chocolate and making them sandwiches.
It's about living everyday with them everyday and instead of going insane, they keep you sane.
And you can love anyone.
And that special person, you can have all these and be able to look into their eyes and know how happy you are.
~A poem~ by Taka
It was not a warm summer's day,
Nor pretty Fall of colorful leaves,
Nor Spring of young promise, and sweet flowers in the air.
Blustery freezing Winter, where all bundled into coats,
Knitted scarves and woolen hats, and faces burrowed over hot tea,
And there I saw his eyes.
Large and wide, and brown as a speckled bird's,
Laughter when he smiled and laughter when he turns into a frown,
Pretending he didn't care, even as he leaned in close and whispered.
His hand was warm,
Goodbye hugs brief, unsure,
A gentle touch, and I could breathe no more.
How the heart yearns what it cannot have,
Insanity drizzled and tempers flared,
And when, and when at last, his grasp became firmer, his lips soft,
The heart yearned even more...
Mused by Sukunami Taka around 1:36 AM
Comments:
Post a Comment