Written in My Hand
Grief is loud.
It cries until your body hurts.
It screams into empty rooms.
It asks why
until the word means nothing.
It makes you angry
at people who are still here.
It makes you miss things
you thought you hated.
But grief is quiet too.
Sometimes it sits beside you
while you laugh.
Sometimes you have a good day
and feel guilty for having one.
Sometimes you forget.
And then you remember.
And somehow,
remembering hurts worse
than never forgetting at all.
Grief is a ghostwriter.
It writes things inside you
that you don't remember asking it to write.
It changes the way you remember before.
It changes the way you imagine after.
It makes absence feel like a presence.
And after a while,
you stop asking grief to leave.
You make room for it.
Maybe because losing it
would mean losing one more thing.
So it stays.
Quiet enough that no one else hears it.
Loud enough that you always do.
And somewhere along the way,
it learns to write in your hand.
Until one day you read yourself back
and cannot tell
where grief ends
and you begin.
— Sofia Aronovsky
Is life not written on the passing clouds
Shapeshifting rumors on an errant breeze
Tailoring the moon’s mysterious cloak
The fire and ice of an unsettled liege
Is she not a master of words that deny
The meaning of heaven and earth and goodbye
Conjuring demons to lead us astray
An unending search for the why of the why
Wet sands erase the sun’s sepia smiles
Leaving us breadcrumbs of love and despair
The flicker of longing we no longer feel
An aching that asks were we really there
Clouds have no mem’ry save moonrise and tide
And life only moments in which they abide
Great poets need not worry.
Self-written dissertations or poems
Always lack heart, soul and harmony.
Self-written lyrics or poems
Are the products of raw science,
Not fine arts and literature.
Great poets, with wit, humor, and nature,
Have a divine style and an astute common sense.
Self-written poems lack the zeal and the spirit
That only human beings can display or exhibit.
Great poems come from the core of the heart,
Great poems come from the deep abyss of the soul.
Believe it or not, a machine can play a major part,
However, a masterpiece can only be conceived by the role
That a genius-artist and a scientist can play to end-up at an evolution.
Self-written poems lack the beauty and the innate composition.
P.S. This poem was written and revised before A.I.
Copyright © January 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
I translated this from German to English. Which unfortunately makes it less elegant.
To share my love,
nothing more painful can I imagine,
than to tear my heart in two.
To be bound to someone eternally,
but never fully belong to him
There is neither yes nor no,
just endless desire.
To be betrayed, in the
most cruel way, is not
with the body, but
with the heart.
Chaos of emotions, Love and
Suffering have never been closer to
each other.
How will this End, no
solution in sight
With pain and tears?
I don't know
The obligation, to have to make a decision
weighs heavily on my Shoulders
The night comes down in velvet black,
A flash of light upon the track.
The amplifiers shake the floor,
And shadows slip beneath the door.
We drift beyond the neon light,
Into the dark and ancient night.
The guitar cries a silver tear,
To pull the distant cosmos near.
No heavy ground can hold us fast,
While old and electric echoes last.
We map the skies in heavy bars,
And lose our souls in the stars.
The cards are thrown, the
whiskey shakes,
A lightning flash before it
breaks.
A heavy hand upon the chest,
No time to lose, no time to
rest.
Above the noise, the neon
scars,
It's written down inside the
stars.
THE SICKNESS AND THE
RIFF
The smoke is thick upon the
land,
With rubber stamps in heavy
hands.
The judges nod, the shadows
fall,
Yet something rises through
the wall.
So let the ceiling crash and
bend-
We'll dance until the very
end,
Where guitars scream and
tear the night,
And burning skies ignite the
light.
DESTINED IN THE SKY
It's no dark myth, it's no
design,
That pulls your hand right into
mine.
Past all the doubt and prison
bars,
We trace our names up in the
stars,
A blazing pulse, a quiet truth,
The reckless heartbeat of our
youth.
This is the greatest poem ever written
I am
You are
I am you
You are me
I want you
You want me
I am you
You are me
I am you
You aren,t me
I am not you
We are one
We are human
You are human
I am human
I am
You are
I
You
We are one
They say destiny is written in stars,
Everything from your triumphs to your scars.
So I stand on pedestal, gazing at dark skies,
Trying to find a reason for another try.
My legs get weary and they shiver,
Somewhere, my hope also quivers.
I try to support my head as tears fall down,
While in despair, I try not to drown.
The soil beneath gets salty from my tears,
Perhaps my hope was shattered in a haze of fears.
But then again, hope, is addictive and fierce,
Like sunlight through stormy clouds, it knows how to pierce.
I again look up to find my destiny written in stars,
As I try to find the counts of triumphs and scars,
Maybe it’s written that I will reach for the stars,
Only when I battle unafraid of the scars.
W ritten in the stars
R eally it is for me and you
I gaze amoung the stars at night
T he answer we can find
E nveloped in majesty, by Gods mighty hand
N eeding assurance, was it meant to be
I t is our destiny
N eed to grasp it now
T ime disappears so fast
H old your dreams in your heart
E verlasting love is possible
S top, think, listen to your heart <3
T hats our answer today
A nd stop running and hiding
R each up grasp that dream
S ure will come true believe dont doubt
The price is paid, the blood is shed..No
devil in hell will make our bed.' The pearl
Once purchased cannot be sold.' No one
Should start again the refrains, dead and
Old.'
Or strew such
Treasure before the pigs..Who tear the
Soil and but shallow dig.' Who grunt at
Wisdom.' And scream at the wind, that
Blows ill or good..What matters it them.?
All for the slaughter, act like this, as unholy
Demons shudder and hiss, they stir up the
Wars and all thats amiss.' Remove our
focus from such; I àsk you Lord' may peace of the spirit bind all Jesus's people in one direction; mind and accord.!
In our love story of us,
Every chapter written,
Shines brighter than the
first chapter,
When we write it together.
I gaze into the star struck sky
waiting for a response
to my wishes
wanting to know
if there is anything
written in the stars
for me tonight
Stared at the ashes of burned bridges
Blank and free, stripped of emotion
Densely piled through the ages
Obscured from memory, no recollection
The scorching fire came not from inside
Unaware even that a tether exists
A consciousness bound in receding tides
Resembles a sun to an evening mist
Wasted by life’s strange concoction
Dampened hopes, dimmed sight
In a cobweb of confused emotions
Wildly spun, tangled tight
Lost while traveling the selfless road
Regret revealed what truly matters
Reached the isle of pain—cold and broad
Relief, now, found behind closed shutters
Solitude, a consolation offered
To an existence where others once lived
A need for what remains to be spared
When value, in the absence, is perceived
In the era where all is fake
Generated and new
Curated to a taste
We dont carry
Where night never comes
Becuase the lights are too bright
Where we never forgive
Carry on in petty fights
Where we yell
And scream
And go numb
All at the same time
We found each others under the ever bright lights
And in that moments all noise ceased
Night reigned
And all falsehood sank like debris
Becuase in this fake world we were real
We were meant to be.
The dulcet night veneers my heart’s horizon with sparkles,
spreads the starlit tinges of my timeless yearning,
paints a golden garden blooming with the luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adore.
The patina of radiant rose flushes your cherubic cheeks,
glitters with the grandeur of resplendent diamonds of dew,
rhapsody ripples in the mesmeric meadow of my mind,
my heart feels your allure, in the ether of euphoria I float.
In the vivacious vale of mind contoured by your charm,
as I carve an ardent conduit of longing to reach you,
the fervent stardust of my craving surges in a torrent,
makes my love for you a cascading stellar stream, I swim.
Pulled by the current of your charismatic magnetism,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss,
where your love weaves the constellation lattice in my sky,
with its sequins I compose a lyric for you, written in the stars.
…
Sub Categories
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.