Writing a poem
is like opening a window
and letting fresh air
rush through a hot
stuffy room.
The air so thick it
stifles and strangles.
The hot breath of the
room reaching its thick
muggy fingers up your
nose
and into your brain preventing
all thought. You
can't even breathe be-
cause the air's in your lungs
and wrapped around your
chest crushing you and
trapped you flail about for
the window
Frantically
raise the glass
lean forward and
inhale, mouth
open,
something clear, cool, and clean.
This is fabulous. Great poem, but, more importantly, you totally nailed that magnificently refreshing feeling of creation.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much! Glad you liked it. Yes, that was what I was hoping for! To me, writing poetry, even more so than fiction, is such an organic process, very emotional and natural, and it's something that's very hard to capture with words which are so often inadequate for what we feel. Thanks for reading and commenting!
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