I've never really felt it. Do I hold it deep, will it one day explode? I seek solutions, but is there a lost cause? Is it inhumane not to feel, Even stranger, not to love?
What does it mean to feel, To let emotions unravel? I stand as a foreigner to anger, to love, Wondering how it would feel.
Serious, yet shallow, paradoxical, My life a contradiction, a collision of lines That never meet, yet run together. And as I speak, I’m on the verge Of being swallowed whole By me, yet not me, a self I Cannot see.
~Heart of Stone~
My heart must be made of stone
For all I see are lies.
I see your art, think you're alone.
I want to give blue skies.
~
Ego, I'm sorry.
Don't stop your art.
I love to play many parts, that's all.
I don't mean any harm.
This is a very nice poem. We always have questions on the emotional ride we take on in this crazy life. It's almost like a dream looking from the outside in and staring at yourself. Love it!
it's a very interesting piece. i'm someone who feels things very deeply, but i've been through periods of derealization/depersonalization which felt like exactly what you wrote here. i'll be interested in reading more of your works and get to know how you think and experience the world.
Posted 1 Month Ago
1 Month Ago
Thank You for the review, and defiantly will continue writing....
Please read this...........
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your
heart, even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the
physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink
his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.
(You can find this passage in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.)
Posted 1 Month Ago
1 Month Ago
Thank you so much, you are so sweet ;)
1 Month Ago
You are my friend. I love you and think of you often. You are in my prayers.