Sometimes
Sometimes, life feels like a rainbow, flowing in beautiful colors
Thoughts and ideas flow from me like a river washing clear to my soul
I find great joy and beauty in everything I see and hear and life is so good
Other times, life feels like a massive gray cloud, pressing down on my heart
Metin Demiralay
Squeezing the very life from me and obscuring my vision of all beauty
I despise these days and fight with everything within me to escape this gray cloud
Words of love and tales of fantasy are my escape, disappearing into a world of my own creation
Eventually that old gray cloud lifts and my rainbow comes back along with my cleansing river.
Life is good again and I can smile inside.
I suppose what I describe is the life of every poet or possibly just life period
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
10 comments:
oh i know this cloud you're talking about - just payed me a visit a few days ago…like the rainbow times much more..
I admire your poetry, its depth and feel.
lovely cloud it is Neva..:) adorable picture and the whole post is depth in flow..great!
Oh my! You've just described MY sometimes! Perfectly! :)
Hi Neva,
It does sound like the ups and downs, the normal ebb and flow of life. But perhaps poets have a better way of coping with it than most...and that is to bring it forth into the world in the form of a poem. :)
Just so simple a truth but to be realized not be worried over ebbs and tides. Very beautiful a poem.
keep up your excellence...
love your talent,
enjoy your shining spirits and beautiful mind more.
"Sometimes I sit in front of my little gray desk in my little gray class room with its little gray walls, and a glassy plastic floor that can’t decide what shade of gray it wants to be, and only swings between them in a staticy lurch at self, preordained by thousands of little black dots on the ceiling to fail…and I watch all of the colors spilling out of the window, and I wonder what I’m looking at, because I blink, and all of the colors are gone. blink and look down, and realize I’m not supposed to be here. A dusty stretch of highway, a slash of brightly colored cloth, two sunsets on the same horizon. And then I blink, and I wonder what I was thinking? I have homework to do.
What am I looking for?"
"I wish that I could fly like silence, and find myself someplace untouched
I wish I could sing like a river, and run through the mud
my bare feet slapping the soil, audible over the rushing wind
I wish I could RUN
I wish I could hold in my hands what I hold in my heart
I wish I could see what I’ve become
I wish I could sit in the sand and see through the silence
watching the waves that cut like diamonds at the shore.
and wondering at the icy slivers that slip through the waters
unseen and untouched
by anything bearing a heart shaped quite like that.
and not the smoke that clogs my eyes and my lungs
as I fight to find my way across the slate laden floor
Breathing poison and reaching for the door I cannot see to enter
Twisting a handle and wondering
because at least here, it’s warm."
"You know, on the first day that you can see the grass through the snow, the smell of the mud and still pools of water, the sensation of the sunlight sinking into your skin, they’re intoxicating as they drive me to spinning and running and falling flat on the pavement, letting the heat sink into my bones. The first time I feel the rain after the incessant winter, it tastes like nectar on my tongue, and flows across my skin like nothing I can describe. On days like this, I can almost feel the energy pulsing through my blood, an electric current that makes all my senses fizz with clarity, makes my skin tingle with the touch of the breeze, makes every smell a taste, sweeter than honey on my breath, drives all of my worries to the realm of inconsequence, untouched and unthought of, before the glory of everything that is, and my ability to perceive it."
Thank you for posting those. It's good to know somebody out there feels things like that. And I'm sorry that this was so long.
"Sometimes I sit in front of my little gray desk in my little gray class room with its little gray walls, and a glassy plastic floor that can’t decide what shade of gray it wants to be, and only swings between them in a staticy lurch at self, preordained by thousands of little black dots on the ceiling to fail…and I watch all of the colors spilling out of the window, and I wonder what I’m looking at, because I blink, and all of the colors are gone. blink and look down, and realize I’m not supposed to be here. A dusty stretch of highway, a slash of brightly colored cloth, two sunsets on the same horizon. And then I blink, and I wonder what I was thinking? I have work to do.
What am I looking for?"
"I wish that I could fly like silence, and find myself someplace untouched
I wish I could sing like a river, and run through the mud
my bare feet slapping the soil, audible over the rushing wind
I wish I could RUN
I wish I could hold in my hands what I hold in my heart
I wish I could see what I’ve become
I wish I could sit in the sand and see through the silence
watching the waves that cut like diamonds at the shore.
and wondering at the icy slivers that slip through the waters
unseen and untouched
by anything bearing a heart shaped quite like that.
and not the smoke that clogs my eyes and my lungs
as I fight to find my way across the slate laden floor
Breathing poison and reaching for the door I cannot see to enter
Twisting a handle and wondering
because at least here, it’s warm."
Thank you for posting those. It's good to know somebody out there feels things like that. And I'm sorry this was so long.
AVI, thank you for your beautiful soul touching post.......:) Neva
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