I Never Liked Poems That Don't Rhyme
I Never Liked Poems That Don't Rhyme
now I'm as guilty as the rest of them
I woke up late this morning with just shy of eight hours of sleep in me. The sun was shining (what a relief), the birds were singing, and it was cooler outside than usual.
After spending what felt like ten minutes “designing” my outfit for the day—which is an art form to me—I found my second favorite mug where I’d left it yesterday and after filling it with coffee, headed outside.
On an average day, I would have hooked left down the street going east because I like seeing the sunrise when I walk in the morning. But the sun was already in the sky, so I hesitated.
I eventually went right, because I remembered how fond I was of sitting in the shade beneath the pines down the street where there was a lovely breeze.
My mind was a jumbled mess. Much as I hoped it would, sleep hadn’t helped that. Coffee didn’t either. Yet there I was, still sleeping and still drinking coffee and hoping they would fix something.
That was a funny thought to me.
Life is full of those sorts of things—things we do over and over again hoping for a different result each time. Don’t they say that’s called being certifiably insane? That’s also a funny thought to me.
When I got back, I felt slightly better—but not because of the coffee or sleep—because I prayed a bit and made a conscious effort to be grateful for the new day around me; that actually always helps.
It’s amazing how much happiness can be a choice. Of course, some days are just “challenging,” to put it lightly, but simply being grateful and positive can help so much.
I sat in my bed with my Bible and two journals and my fountain pen for thirty minutes before I did anything; sometimes there’s too much on my mind to know what to do.
After having an enriching time reading and praying, I felt a little better still, but my mind was heavy nonetheless.
And then I pulled out my poetry/“excess thoughts” journal. Sometimes writing thoughts makes them clearer. Sometimes…
Regular old journaling can be lovely, but I personally don’t always have enough clarity to express myself in well-written, coherent sentences and paragraphs—and so I created my “excess thoughts” journal. I generally write about two pages at a time in it, and it never makes a whole lot of sense regarding related topics or ideas… But it helps me process thoughts and emotions quite well sometimes and especially helps me fall asleep (I write any thoughts that come to mind or that have stuck in my head that day and I often have no trouble sleeping after that).
Today, however, I wasn’t trying to fall asleep. I was trying to unravel a million strings of emotion and thought that had been on my mind.
But I didn’t write my excess thoughts; I didn’t write a poem. I wrote a mixture of… well, of both I suppose. A poem that doesn’t rhyme yet is poetically written; thoughts that don’t seem connected, yet are forced into lines and stanzas.
It will likely have no meaning to you and not make much sense, but I figured I’d share it, and perhaps you would like to try it yourself sometime.
Emotion; no Rhyme
Why do I seek the mist?
It was there and now is gone.
Why is my flower sad?
Yesterday, there was color.
Where has the light now gone?
The candle is out of time.
Where does she find it now?
My heart sails without me.
How can I mute a mime?
Our hands hold both our mouths shut.
How can my touch warm her face?
She would always have it.
When did the bonds get cut?
I don't want to drift to sea.
When will the waters be still?
When will the new dawn come?
I hope you enjoyed a look at my chaotic, peaceful, strange little morning. And for the record, I still feel jumbled ;p
Final thought:
…Not everything can or ought to be fixed, sometimes the best thing is to learn through what you cannot resolve.
~ benji
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