I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. At first, poetry was just a hobby I suppose.It lacked real meaning to me until about five or six years ago. As one transitions from the innocent years of childhood to the anxiety-filled teenage years (and beyond) , I've found that one really needs an outlet, a way to express one's emotions. For me, poetry (as I often say) is therapeutic. It makes up a part of my being; it is one of my passions. Granted, I am no fabulous writer (indeed, far from it) but regardless of whether or not my poetry is 'good' I continue to write because others seem to enjoy it (they could, of course, be lying to me, in which case I would be greatly disappointed because I prefer a honest opinion) . My goal is to encourage my readers (naturally) but honestly, I have a more selfish goal: To save myself.
Enough of my ranting and digressions. Enjoy! I hope it isn't too bad. ;)
Soren Valentine
This little leaf I hold in my hand,
for fear it should escape into the air
and take my joy, my memories and
leaving me greying in despair.
...
A tree once golden now dies,
her bones now marrowless.
Her blood holds only goodbyes,
Behold! life in its narrowness.
...
Above the earth, below the sky,
I can hear the joyful cry,
They hug and love under my light,
as I display my colours bright.
...
An old tree stands by the edge of a cliff,
awaiting, awaiting the waters to lift.
The waves he cherishes like God's gift,
but through weeds and mountains he must first sift.
...
I try to put it out,
but it rises like the sea.
I'm full of doubt;
Is this all I'll ever be?
...