Hey, all. The title is based off a Robert Frost quote, something like “Poetry is when an emotion has found a thought, and a thought has found the words.” (Or something like that.) This poem is about me turning emotions into rhymes. Enjoy!


Despair makes a poet out of me.

Tears rinse out my lyrical rhymes.

I can wield fear into dichotomy,

And frustration helps my meter keep time.

New sadnesses remind me of old sorrows;

Yesterdays I thought healed long ago.

But I see now that behind me are tomorrows,

While before me lay the memories I know.

One poem’s not enough to empty emotion.

I still sing a lingering, mournful note.

Happiness was the light between two oceans,

And I, in the heat of passion, wrote.

Mourners will not stop their crying.

Dancers shall not still their feet.

People will not drop façades and lying,

Any more than the wolf will give up meat.

And when desperate, my face contorts itself,

Words are nice, but incomplete.

In Masochistic frenzy, let me hurt myself,

So others will stop hurting me.

In Self-Pity, I write tears and sighs,

Masterpieces spring from angry nights.

As the flower of my youth now dies,

Maybe an oak tree will scrape the heights?..


Enjoy? Comment below!

Original poem by KiWi

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