I wish I can write a poem tonight.
Silent, late summer,
pen a short prose, summing up,
all my smiles and frowns
this weekend long.
And so I wrote.
Ink splashed in my notes
on the replaying echoes I dread to hear.
Prayers I never declared out loud-
May them be answered
when dawn light comes around.
You and your masquerade masks
My dark assumptions shade your sparks.
Just leave me out.
The game is over,
now much sleep needed.
Here's how I wrote myself
a poem tonight.
Much peace without your voices-
unsweetened tea, stealing warmth.
Here's to the next daybreak-
another chance to cheer for my soul.
Jan. 3 2019
'Free Verse Style Only' Contest
Emile Pinet
Shares everything of his, lower than the normal dose
Kindred and all relatives in the house, share one hose
Incredibly stingy that on both his hands, weed grows
No seat around, he shares the flower pot with the rose
For his son’s laboured breathing, he offers his own nose
Life roars in long poetry, he sees it in a short prose
In all his displayed portraits, none has his complete pose
Nearly a millionaire but his family borrows
Tortured soul, clinging unto self with hands, always close.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.