Get Your Premium Membership

Definition

I was blessed to be attached by the words Like a child in a field of thorns: They hold on to you, they hurt you, It gets under your skin It pours directly into your blood And so you become The name of an incurable disease: Poet

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 7/4/2025 5:27:00 AM
This made me laugh (in a good way). Yes,writing poems is something once started keeps going - a way of holding on to thoughts and truths and funny things...(etc) - and I don't have to dust them. J :)
Login to Reply
Swan Avatar
Jeanette Swan
Date: 7/4/2025 3:50:00 PM
Indeed... And the fun of the etymology app, and playing with sounds. And Poetry Soup is a great place to keep poems so they don't get lost.
Lacatus Avatar
Florin Lacatus
Date: 7/4/2025 1:59:00 PM
Dear Jeanette, Your message felt like a bell ringing in a quiet chapel: unexpected, honest, and tender. Indeed, poetry is not something we do, it is something that does us. It lingers like incense in the lungs, like a childhood hymn you never quite forget. And yes, once it begins, it refuses to be silenced. We do not write to decorate, but to reveal. To strip the words of their perfume and let them stand bare, raw, unpolished, just as truth demands. Thank you for seeing the thread,

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry