This is a poem I wrote while in a rehearsal for a play a while back. I decided to post it because, hey, why not?
Four lives separate, but in one.
None share a quality, but a human.
The sweet and simple and innocent eyes
The cruel and feared, the one that tells lies
The one that cries in loneliness and in despair.
The one that creates words out of thin air
Sometimes they collide in twos and threes,
But never do they meet all in one.
Sometimes one will crumble like fallen leaves,
Whilst others burn with pride like the sun.
And I fear if they were all to meet,
My world would dissolve in a fit of tears.
All my personas would scream in agony
And I would collapse in a pile of lonely emotions
Four lives separate—doomed someday to meet
All have the same fate, and will take an internal seat.
One that is doomed to observe far too much
One that shall be caught and burned to ash.
One will end in a cold frost of self-pity.
But one persona is left in greatness.
She soars above all showing her skills.
Playing with words like a harp.
“Earth” without “art” is simply “eh”
Hence the muse plays her part.
Holding me together
And comforting the dying emotions
She dances harder than a leaf in the breeze
And sings louder than the crashing ocean.
I thank my muse, my artistic touch
For without her I wouldn’t be much
My words would be bulky with no elegance or grace
There would be nothing to fill the empty space.
She is the drain that takes the sorrowful emotions.
I can be free: she is my health potion.
Art is what sets me free.
Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you want more poetry, or if you are an artist (of any sort!)
That's all for now!