Now I realise.
It is not the pain that makes the poet,
but the incapacity to deal with it.
Now I know,
worse are not the fallen tears,
but the ones we didn’t shed,
that can’t be shed.
Bitter are not the words,
but the love that can’t be expressed.
Our sayings aren’t thought
when they are true,
the rest, lies,
little conformities of this world.
It is the calmness, time
that take us to perfection,
and not practice itself,
but perfection is a uniqueness
that nature doesn’t have as wealth.
It’s all about expressing the unknown,
in order to know it
to imagine the inexistent,
in order to create it.
The silence doesn’t reveal itself…
Now I know.
Now I realise…
it’s all just life.
- Feature poem in my next book: Relapse / Times after it all. Love of a hibiscus already available on Amazon in KDP and print with extended content. Link bellow