Poetic Post: What is this feeling that pours from my heart? A sadness, a fury, an angry shard? Perhaps both. It is hard to infer what exactly it may be, But an inference is an inference for emotions one can not see, Or, well, so Ive been told. I can see it in colors, the deepest of trills, Trills being the utter emotion that fills, The caves between my joyous divots That make the beating of my blood organ pivot, And inside are stuck rivets, Holding it together. Because my rage is fuming. Why one may ask? After such a wholesome task Of explaining what I infer to be my feelings? Well, to understand that I cannot not know, The chemicals in the brain that to and fro, The wheels in my mind that do go reeling. They must know that emotions are an impeccable thing. A mixture that can make you cuddle or sting-- And even do such means, at the same time. One thing I can say, though: My Rage is Fuming, And I Want to Sing. What more, you may shout, Wondering what I may be fuming about, Confused and boggled by what I say. Singing as well so strange to boot, And my words of emotions you wish to confute, And you may be thinking, What? Why? Are you queer today? My dearest of friend, that is also true, I wish to rage, sing, be joyful and new! But again I address you to inference. Emotions do mix, a concoction most foul, But one must infer, and I guess you might howl How one can tell the absolute black and white difference. You cannot: For singing is wanted, and dancing and joy, But sadness ensues, and feelings of cloy, And understand, my boy, emotions do mix and it cant by fixed. Why I am still raging and fuming? It is simple. I am woman and human.
Posted on: Wed, 21 Jan 2015 05:04:58 +0000
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