Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2017 04 19 Poetry, Harmonious April 19, 2017

April 19th, and here we are again.

I’ve spoke often about how I like to write poetry. It doesn’t matter whether or not the words rhyme to me, as long as the poem flows like a song.

I’ve always been fascinated by what people can do with the power of text. The strength of words can overwhelm you if you’re not aware of their ability to creep into your soul and have their way with your passions, your desires, your soul and any other thing you give up to the letters. I love that about writing, and when you feel the emotion stirred up with script, well, it doesn’t get any better than that, or worse? Depending on the style, the experience, the perceptions and the inspiration, it all melts and forms a place in our hearts that can’t be ignored.

The following poem is in honor to all of you, to all through time who have graced the pages with poetry. I will always love how it can change with a read, how it can form into so many different things, and how it can hypnotize the mind as it bends the page.

Thanks to you all for lending us your poetic phrase through this National Poetry Month of April 2017.

Take good care, and don’t ever stop writing.

Deon

***

Harmonious

Once upon a passionate time,
Along came a talented poet.
It seemed that everything this guy wrote, rhymed.
Couldn’t you, wouldn’t you know it?

Phrases lengthy and not so much,
Formed a unique rhythmic song.
No matter where the words carried themselves,
He just couldn’t type no wrong.

From the time he was but a wee little boy,
To an older man turning grey,
The stanzas formed, the poems took shape,
Until the light disappeared for each day.

His collection grew large as his time here grew small,
But he never paid it no mind.
He just licked the tip of his pencil a bit,
And rhymed every word he could find.

A lifetime has passed since this poet of old,
Crafted his musical phrase.
The melodies formed from the lines of text,
Shall last through the end of all days.

A harmonious script of musical words,
Was his gift to the eyes of our young,
The tides of chorus that rolled with the seas,
Were those same rhythmic songs that he sung.

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