Its strange how poems change before our eyes somehow metaphor into another better being than first we thought
But how or why, i have often wondered never yet concluding, left open to all debate.
The written words seem to blossom and grow have a life of their own devoid of any action on the writers part and somehow something quite different Is born of our imagination
I really like it. Your take on poetry is neat!
I can relate to the first stanza. Most people who aren't crazy for poetry think I'm nuts when I try and get them to understand the metaphors! Well an inside joke for us I guess----
The written words seem to blossom and grow
have a life of their own - Those are my favourite lines in your poem. They are very nicely said (good imagery) and mean so much. A line just seems to get better and better each time we read!
Really well done, added to my favourites!
Haha, I love how you used color, not many people take the advantage of the color. And the pooem in general is amazing. Nice use of using spanglish haha
This is the main reason I finally started keeping my journals....what I would write may not actually start happening in my life till years later....it helped me to see how important "thought" is....
Very well put---good point. Sometimes, when I read something I've written long ago, I'll intepret it differently than I did before. Maybe this is the reason why I keep editing my writings over and over again, even years after I've already written them and became satisfied with them. My life changes, my emotional feelings change---my expressive words change---my writings change, by editing, to match my new feeling. I like your poem very much---it helped me to learn something new about myself and why I always feel the need to constantly edit---thanks for this eye-opener!
I love the way the words take flight and turn into something totally different from what we may have intended because they take on significance for someone else. The beauty of the written word my friend, open on both ends. Nice job.
. yeah ... the magic that we all have ... we are as yet alien to ... can never figure it out ... and it remains so beautifully enigmatic ... a bewitching poem about a bewitching mystery ...
Dont worry if the sparrow chirps today,
Tomorrow the Nightingale shall sing
Judge me if you will, not on the words of another who may have their own agenda, but as YOU find me, as YOU .. more..