Yet another poetry post. I am not sure where the inspiration is really coming from this month to write so much poetry. Usually it's a tough call for two poems a month, this is like my 4th or 5th poem in a two week span. Tonight I think inspiration came from being alone in the house. It's dark and kind of cold, and I think it was a very cleansing post. I think the theme is pretty easy to get, just honesty in yourself and your work, honesty in baring your soul into the creative process. Maybe you'll like it, maybe not, but I was actually pretty happy with the turnout. Thanks for reading.
Its cold and dark and I hear no sound,
The curtains drawn as light's gone to ground.
Subtle silence has quelled the clamor,
And the shines paled off the glamor.
The house is barren yet filled with ghosts,
Made once of dreams but now faded boasts.
A pale glow cries from my screen,
As the thought of cheer feels obscene.
Crouched in the black staring vacantly,
With the emptiness looking back at me.
Jumbled thoughts placed to words,
All the things I don't want heard.
Just the cleansing of my soul,
So the loneliness will make me whole.
A scribbled rush to pen my cries,
To capture inspiration before it dies.
Just sitting here in the dark,
Coming to grips with emotions stark.
Truth is often the hardest friend,
'Cause it's all your left with in the end.
A lie saves face but not the heart,
Each falsehood kills another part.
So in the dark I type alone,
And pay this penance to honor atoned.
An aching tithe to truth and pain,
It's all I've left to keep me sane.
As the chill world turns to storm,
I feed this flicker to keep me warm.
My thoughts, my heart, and what's within,
Whether earnest hope or deepest sin,
Shall be penned, upon this slate,
As I given myself to this fickle fate.
So empty house you are my muse,
To lay true my hearts abuse.
And as the glow dies from the keys,
It's only then I feel at ease.
End of Line.