Confluence
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Written for Sotto Poet's Confidence, Clean Air, Confluence, Clash of Civilizations contest.
Title 3/ Confluence Quote: Forget injuries, never forget kindnesses. Confucius
In the poetic story of my life,
I hesitate and ponder 'don't be so obvious,'
but whatever I am thinking - becomes a poem.
Sometimes life hurts, when lost upon crossroads of fate,
until those with invisible wings, help us mortals to ascend.
I still remember in a merciless, murky, fatigued dawn,
as I gazed at a rustic photo frame in my room.
Haunting shadows kept reappearing,
recalling a 'past like' stale old wine, tasting bitter with remorse.
I was balancing upon scales of judgment,
reminding me about those old books,
which still remain unread in the cellars of my soul.
I wanted to reject and forget, but regret just made me upset.
I've never been good at apologising,
but my mother assures me it's never too late.
That my words are an escape from metaphorical mumbling thoughts,
where pain and joy merge - composing confluence.
In my personal bazaar of emotions,
sorrow and triumph would be cast away on an island,
so they can become companions, flowing like waterfalls,
forming a single oasis with tributaries of triumph, merging,
cleansing like verses that carry weight.
My quill has no desire for scripting fiction,
with false tales of attraction, love or obsession.
Cupid's arrows keep misfiring, so I wonder why do we fall in love,
in a world where broken hearts are souvenirs?
Believing delusions of narcissistic delirium,
feasting on hearts like blood soaked unforgiveness.
Bitterness and stubbornness are unsavoury comrades.
Without affection and tenderness, I used to drown,
suffocating from spiteful expectations.
Until compassion wrote a perfect poem,
so I no longer feel like a waterless fountain,
empty in the sunshine of Jubilant July,
slowly watching my dahlia desires die from neglect,
unable to pour effluence of words onto paper.
There are no metaphors for my pattern of emotions,
but at the darkest phase, I hope faith will set me free,
mixing like ink and paper.
In the valley of broken bookmarks,
after a sudden encounter with my past self,
I'm slowly recovering from glimpses of a toxic journey,
where I've realised my worth, accepting my scars are my perfections.
Such were the tenure of feelings, which I held,
they were an explosion of highlighted quotes,
trying to rediscover love and atonement
through the words of philosophers,
who emphasized that true healing is through pearls of prayer,
bringing you closer to contentment and
letting go of that which I cannot control.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2024
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