My blood wants to sing.
So I tear open my veins
Letting the blue blood gush forth
From its narrow confines,
Pulsing in wild joy.
My blood tries to sing.
For a fleeting moment,
It throbs with wordless emotion
Seeking expression, but
Sinking into lethargy.
My blood sings,
Echoing the wails of the beloved
But muting the heartbreak;
Reflecting the grief, the regrets,
But fogging their dizzying depths.
My blood once sang,
Weaving melodious words
Into tales and epics.
But now it sings
Tonelessly.
A/N: Ugh. Writer's block is as bad as a common cold: It may be trivial, but it has an outrageously immense capacity of frustrating the affected. And what better way to combat writer's block than write a poem about it?
I'm not 100% satisfied with this one, but at least it's a start. Here's to a speedy recovery from a suddenly-malfunctioning-vocabulary and pages of struck-out writing!
So I tear open my veins
Letting the blue blood gush forth
From its narrow confines,
Pulsing in wild joy.
My blood tries to sing.
For a fleeting moment,
It throbs with wordless emotion
Seeking expression, but
Sinking into lethargy.
My blood sings,
Echoing the wails of the beloved
But muting the heartbreak;
Reflecting the grief, the regrets,
But fogging their dizzying depths.
My blood once sang,
Weaving melodious words
Into tales and epics.
But now it sings
Tonelessly.
A/N: Ugh. Writer's block is as bad as a common cold: It may be trivial, but it has an outrageously immense capacity of frustrating the affected. And what better way to combat writer's block than write a poem about it?
I'm not 100% satisfied with this one, but at least it's a start. Here's to a speedy recovery from a suddenly-malfunctioning-vocabulary and pages of struck-out writing!
