Poetry Comes To Me
When silence is no savior,
I try to tell my tale through words estranged from my tongue,
where poetry comes to me in sombre spasms,
the "me", who you do not know.
But these suppressed emotions barely define battles of a poetic kind,
and when the frozen ink finally trickles down the quill like rainfall,
thunders and lightning are formed across heavy skies,
while ravishing rainbows follow them after,
making misery bloom into beauty, peace, and poetry,
embellishing my poetic garden forevermore.
~Ayesh
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