Poetry is putting a diaphanous veil over something unappealing, speaking regarding it just subdued enough to put into oblivion how abraded and festering and suppurate the wound is.
It’s a language of emphasizing inspiration, subjectivity – of Romanticism and painless augury, full of fanatical sentimentalism and compelling twists of the tongue.
Metaphors are hazardous travesty, using a sort of transfiguration to turn wordless sentiment into imaginable circumstances.
The way the anguish rios through yoyr body and flusters your every bones compelling you to envision misery as it pull you down to great depths and choking breaths.
The truth is, poetry is a deceiver, a fibber, an equivocator. Never fall for its exquisitely crafted stanzas causing slips into the dense fog of nostalgia.
I write to an audience that doesn’t reply (but I always keep receiving reviews which is really overwhelming). I don’t get much shares or reblogs. But I like the idea that people read them regardless.
It’s okay if you don’t post that button, but I hope my writings give impact to someone, whether good or bad, it’s good to know that someone out there was moved by my words.
I just want to make you feel the spectrum of emotions.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I haven’t posted anything lately because I have been so busy.
Thank you 2017 for the ups and the downs. Thank you for making me feel best and worst at the same time.
I am the kind of person who doesn’t ask for too much but hey, God is good for giving me just the right amouny of everything.
Thank you for making me realize that I am starting to live my life…. again
bring it on.
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