Below is the poem entitled In 10 seconds which was written by poet
Butterfly. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."
A Rambling Poet
There’s always been a significant person
Who has guided me through life
And taught me everything
A growing girl should learn,
From counting all my numbers,
To knowing how life can be cold.
My gratitude rewards this person
For, I was not easy to train,
Oft’ times I turned my shoulder cold
I believed I knew everything.
I just wanted to be young and live,
And tried to stray too many times to count.
I’ve grown beholden of the things I’ve learned.
My knowledge floods in large quantities,
Through my veins, from the veins of a special being.
Accepted, and hoarding his words, entirety
My mind suppressing reality of his un-beating hearts coldness
Building castles in air, deceiving myself that he might live.
~”I walk solitaire, but not alone”~
Through the graveyard, choked by after-life.
His name on the monument, bold & stone cold.
I run my hand across the surface, and embrace it whole
Suffer the etching through my fingertips, I’ve new things to learn
“He” isn’t really here, only his flesh and bones.
I close my eyes to preserve it all, and count to 10.
Within that 10 seconds, his spirit enlightens my company,
Sits with me, we discuss everything
“I taught you a lot, especially these things of cold,
I know what I promised, I know what a special person
I was to you. But Randa you must now learn
To do things on your own. In the way of your own life.”
~”I shan’t forget the words he left me with…”~
“Pass my knowledge to my grandsons, for them to learn.
I see already you’ve taught Logan to count.
Princess, you know I’m still here, even though my flesh is cold
And, even though now I cant do every little thing
That I could when my blood flowed, I can live on through your life
And spiritually lead you to be who you want, as a person”
Then my daddy faded away, and everything
Went back to the way it was. Like numbers
On a clock, must be wound to keep it’s life.
Contest: Writing In The Sublime ~