Read Poems by Heather Kemp

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Vanished

When you pour out your soul,
words so fully drowning the page,
Then your thumb hugs delete,
your mind filling with rage. 
Eloquently written, to be deemed
"one of your best"
So you summon the growth which 
lays the pen down to rest. 
It spoke as it tumbled in description
so vivid, 
With a press of a key, page left blank,
stark & rigid. 
A grin does appear from one side to 
the other,
As being present has gifted the knowledge of power. 
Power to know that it is all for said 
reason, 
For I am a poet whom can scribe 
in each season. 

-H.

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Beata Agustin Date: 10/12/2023 7:04:00 AM Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.
Hiya Sharma Date: 10/9/2023 2:48:00 AM A deep and evocative write with so many emotions flowing throughout.. True, when our kind fills with come confusion and glimpses of rage, we often tend to take impulsive decisions and many time delete our thoughts which we pour out in our poems.. And everything seems vanished, leaving a space of oblivion. But your ending line "For I am a poet whom can scribe in each season" Ahhh that's really wonderful!

Beata Agustin

Date: 10/12/2023 7:04:00 AM

Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.

Hiya Sharma

Date: 10/9/2023 2:48:00 AM

A deep and evocative write with so many emotions flowing throughout.. True, when our kind fills with come confusion and glimpses of rage, we often tend to take impulsive decisions and many time delete our thoughts which we pour out in our poems.. And everything seems vanished, leaving a space of oblivion. But your ending line "For I am a poet whom can scribe in each season" Ahhh that's really wonderful!

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