I'm a poet. And I know it. But no-one else does....
It's like there is a seed inside of me. A wonderful, beautiful, decadent seed, so full of promise and potential. This seed is planted in fertile ground, it has impregnated my mind. It is nourished with knowledge and erudition, it is watered with liquid inspiration, it has thick strong roots twisted around philosophical musings, romantic disillusions and the stuff that dreams are made of.
This seed has sprouted. It has set down roots in the depths of my very being, like a parasitic plant living off of my soul. It has grown, developed, matured, it has staked its claim and it is here to stay. Its sinewy tendrils creep into my finger tips, winding themselves around and prompting partially poetic outbursts on the page. These shoots slide silkily over my lips, resting on the tip of my tongue where they refuse to disperse. Teasing, taunting, flirting. Sweet but somehow bitter, never gratifying with the lyrical, spiritual, verbal expression they could so easily surrender to me.
My seed is so resilient, so strong; it has lasted through years of silence, neglect and denial. The seed allowed itself to shrivel, its roots to become knarled and withdrawn....but still it remained.
Whispering....
'Feed me, nourish me, love me'
It whined and whimpered and wheedled its way around my assertions, my indignation and my downright refusal to accept that the seed was truly meant for me. It made honey sweet promises tinged with hope and endless possibilities, luring me in, seducing me with its rhythmical, sensual, graceful prose. It gave me images of the greats, those others who had been blessed by the spark, the ability to commune, and pledged to make me like them. This seed showed me what I could be, and I simply could not resist - powerless, captive, subjecting myself to its will.
But why won't this seed grow?
Why will it not allow itself to see the light....to let the light see it?
To branch out, to make its mark - its irrefutable stamp of beauty and self expression. To shape itself into things that look familiar to others, that shock and scare, to reflect the world and dazzle people with its exquisite splendour. Why will it not grow majestic green leaves, flaunting the way it photosynthesises the truth and makes the mundane appear exotic? To bear the fruits of its labour, to reap the glory of all that has been sown and harvest its wisdom. Why will it not spread itself on the wind, touching new minds, setting down new roots, blessing us with the power to articulate, orate and communicate in a divine and potent manner?
Maybe I am simply not ready for the wonders that the seed can endow, or maybe it has not yet soaked in the knowledge it needs to thrive. But for now, me and my poetic seed are at war, it refuses to die, but will not let me express it. And so I remain....secretly poetic.
Miss CS x
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I can relate to this Miss CS.I think that every human being has that special something that we may call gift inside of them. Some may have realised it, some have acted upon this gift but most us just ignore it. This may be due to the obstacles that we've experienced throughout our lives and what the cynic society have come to describe as fantasy. This may be due to the people and influences around that forces us not to act on this gift or special talent that the Lord has bestowed upon us.
ReplyDeleteI am one of the culprits who have ignored this talent or gift or whatever you choose to call it. Why? doesnt matter because whatever the reasons it pales in comparison to those who have overcame incomparable difficulties to achieve their dream through the talent that God has given them.
I believe I have a way with words that makes me stand out from others.I walk around thinking of these clever little riddles and rhymes that will light a spark in the mind of the most decrepid soul.But I never write down these gems that lay dormant somwhere in my lackadasical mind. I used to write it when I first fell in love with it.I had a few books filled with these lyrical scriptures.But I decided to wage a war against my poetic side because I was at war with fantasy.I'd rather deal with reality...or so I thought.
Who am I not to dream? who am I to not have a fantasy? After all isnt this that makes us human? As I am human, I'll continue to dream and fantasize about my poetic side.Now I've chosen to speak about it, I hope this may lead to it finally been recognised.But for now I'll accept my poetic side and nuture it, so it can continue to grow once more.
So so pleased to know that people have connected with this piece.... it means a lot to know that the message rings true! And thank you for commenting, I hope you feel inspired to embrace the poet in you - it might feel like a risk, but giving in to that risk and learning to develop that talent can only be a good thing right? Plus, theres something kind of satisfying about expressing all those things that you usual struggle to verbalise.
ReplyDeleteAlways nice to hear from another secret poet :)
Miss CS x