Poetry Complexity

Note: In response so someone who felt to tell me poetry was pointless.

A beautiful chaotic mess
Of words and emotions
That takes the simplicity
And twist it into a satisfactory
Form of revealing them.

Not everyone gets it.
But that’s okay, poetry
Can sometimes be for ourselves
And not for others.

A complicated world poets
Live in, but it is a world
Most do not understand
To begin with.

Do not try to understand
A poet’s mind because
We have our own way
Of dealing with the world
And it’s everyday business.

The Magic Caster

Magic arises when the time comes
It’s not one to listen despite the user’s strength
And it will not grant the user everything
Without a price that even the user may not face.

Without having something more than courage
And strength combined, the caster of magic
Needs something more than spells and rhymes
They need more than anything they thought of.

Emotions, feelings, the reason for magic’s use
The caster of magic needs to go beyond the truth
They need to see past the lies, and the golden fringe
That magic itself casts on the caster that’s hard to mend.

Practice is laughable since one could practice
A hundred years and still not have a clue about
The secrets of magic and how it should be used
But still the caster tries to use their magic.

Why do they continue to fight to use magic’s
Power when they know very well it could backfire?
Selfishness, desire, the greed for the power
That could destroy the caster without a second thought.

What does it matter to the magic caster?
With magic he can surely get everything he wants!
But magic is a lie, no matter how hard it’s seen through
It will never give in to the likes of me or you.

Daffodil Sunshine

The sun, the brightest star in the sky
Veiled by the darkest of clouds
Peeking out in a ray of golden light
Submerged by the threatening storm.

Winds hurl forth the clouds to the sun
Trying to vanish the warmth it spreads
With its cold invisible touch that chills
Even the strongest bones to the end.

Yet the sun is mighty, and proves hard
To beat as it fights back with heat
And creates a barricade of gold in the sky
With a warmth that makes the heavens cry.

So the storm always goes, but the sun remains
It’s victorious in its glorious warm reign
And it will shower the earth in its heat
That is eternal as time and dry as the desert.

When I stare at a daffodil it reminds me
Of the sun and how it’s always shining bright
Even though it’s surrounded by darkness
Just like a daffodil is by the darkness of grass.

Easter Rain

It rains almost every Easter Sunday here,
The rain, are they the tears that heaven sheds?
Why is the rain so warm if that is the case
Then does that mean heaven’s grief is heaven’s joy?

A holiday to remember, a day to forgive.
No one can believe what miracle occurred.
But if we could all return from death,
That would be a miracle in and of itself.

However, life is not so easy like that
As the rain falls, growing dimmer in the skies.
It pushes us to want to live, but then we die.
And all we can do is question why?

Why give us life if we just fall?
Why give us anything at all?
Who knows what is beyond death.
Who knows what is beyond life.

So when the warm bitter tears of rain has fallen
Are they really bitter if so warm?
Or are they falling into a stance of irony
As they fall gently from the skies?

Coloring Muses

Colors, darkness, falling everywhere!
Like rose petals, feathers, snow or rain.
It collides with the stars and the earth,
Producing a story through a tired brain.

There is no better feeling than
,
These crazy emotions swirling in me.
I find they are purple, pink, yellow hues
Mixed with black, orange and even blues.

What is this rainbow collision I have found?
It is an energized muse-filled mind that,
Traces the lines of reality and fantasy
By spreading it’s colorful distortion.

Madness, insanity, maybe that’s true
But nothing feels better than finally
Having a brain filled with a lot of
Muse.