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Writing Freeze MAG
My once fluid imagination has
stopped. I’m frozen.
Stopped, and distracted,
I freeze.
The leaves have stopped mid-air.
On a slant and on a pause, the leaf cannot fall.
On a gray, about to be blue, Tuesday morning,
life should be ready to burst.
Juices of sunlight would pour from the parting clouds.
But, from my fingers, only empty air.
They’ve not yet fallen, those leaves from this morning.
When will they land?
The anticipation is a killer
The branches peer down.
Wonder why their leaves have stopped?
Creations of color, but when.
When? will these bites of yellow touch base with the earth?
Tell me.
I’m winter when it’s autumn,
I’m still when my duty is motion.
Frozen, when all I want is to pour.
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This article has 6 comments.
Practice, practice, practice. And read.
Best of Luck,
Dominique
I truly love this poem.
Your writing flows really well - but what really got to me was how you transitioned into writing racism, to something else. Well it kind of makes sense to me... especially how hard it is to write a poem on racism... and that's how you feel in your poem - frozen, when all you want to do is pour...
I think this poem is great. Keep writing.
I really enjoyed it.
Lovely poem darling =]
-Please check out the works that I have posted on here it would be highly appreciated and I think you would greatly enjoy them, Thankk youz-
XxThe Whole Time You Were Talking I Didnt Hear A Single Word You Said B/C Th3 Whole Time You Were Talking I Was Picturing You DeadXx