I was never a poet

by Shah   Feb 22, 2021


I try to express my emotions
And feelings hidden inside

Storms of thoughts in my mind
And volcanoes of sadness

Cries of a lost soul in between
The dead and the living ones

Dark clouds of sorrows floating
Rains of tears burning my cheeks

What is it worth of? I do think
If one doesn't care anymore

If I need to suffer then let it be so
Let happen what is supposed to

You left and I am still alive here
This maybe is my biggest pain

But let it be as I can't change it
I'll live with it and I'll die with it

Words can never picture the unseen
But still try to put something together

Writing sad poems is what I do now
But I know that I was never a poet

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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by Mr. Darcy

    although you say 'words can never picture the unseen' you mange to describe with finesse, i might add, the sad hollowness of loss.

    I was confused by your phrasing 'What is it worth of?' - to me, if this was tweaked to read "of what is it worth? this would scan. You may have a deeper meaning for this and so the question is more cerebral than me.

    Take care.

  • 4 years ago

    by M.Useless

    The Odes have been recording and releasing pain for hundreds of years and this is a classic example. Thank you for sharing.

    • 4 years ago

      by Shah

      As they say: perfection of love comes with pain.
      Thanks for reading

  • 4 years ago

    by Maple Tree

    ahhh but you are- A true poet releases pain and seals it in ink.. And this poem is a powerful one.

    • 4 years ago

      by Shah

      Love makes poets I must say
      Appreciate your comment

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