The spoken words may sometimes be lost
Only some spilled paint may show
The true feelings
That has been kept hidden away
For far too long they say
.
Every poet have lost something
Something far too valuable to say
A heart can’t take
Will it ever be unbroken?
With some spilled words
After its written
Will words ever heal a wound?
.
Is the pain gone?
Faded even?
Oh, how I wish I could be a poet
Capable of letting go
.
Some painted words
Plead to make sense in my head
I’ll turn you into poetry
Missing you in one place
Searching for another
You are my poetry
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
An amazing poem shared.
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This is poetry. Artwork and words. Outstanding.
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Thank you so much 🤍
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You are welcome.
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I love the reflection of how spoiled paint is where true color lies because I believe it is those little smears and crossed out words that contain so much more than a poem. Love! ❤
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Thank you dear 🤍! it’s all about the little beautiful things 🥰
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