They meld and they sway
In a peculiar way.
Like reeds of a field
Standing perfect and straight
But the wind comes, it blows...
And it tears them all down.
But they always recover,
They pop up again
But this time with others that shook through the very same storm.
A mind overloaded
With too many things,
All vying for spots
In coveted attention.
But only one will gain access
To the most inner of courts;
Only one will be summoned...
In through the doors.
When we choose that one thing;
Creative idea, choice, or words,
We're forever exposed to the math ever forward.
It leaves dents and ripples
That can never be turned
Around or inside out.
They're forever ingrained.
We are forced to make room
For its ancestors too...
A never ending sequel
To what never was learned.
We let it go, but to where will it run?
One way in, no way out.
Be careful of what it is that you choose...
For it will grow inside
With no permission from you.
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1 comment:
very cool love, i love that about poetry, it can mean something by the writer but because of the creativity aspect, it can mean something else to the reader too.
so this may not have been exactly what you meant, but what I got out of it was that once you choose something to dwell on, it can morph and evolve into thoughts and other things... so the warning is to be careful what you choose to think about.
which is AWESOME. I love how you wrote it... a true poet kind of dances around the subject and allows the reader to infer.. doesn't give them the WHOLE picture.
i love it. and look forward to much more from you Jourdan. =)
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