“Melancholy Leaks” is a poem that was written during the roughest time of my life. My will was weak, my mind was lost and my soul ached. I’m working on a full length novel called “From Nowhere.” “Melancholy Leaks” is the first of many poems that will be featured in the novel. In chapter one, “From Nowhere” begins at Algonkian Park on the banks of the Potomac River. As I contemplated my fate that day, I wrote the first 22 lines of “Melancholy Leaks.” While they’re dark and revealing, I tried to capture the truth of that day. Poetry is theraputic for me. I truly believe that the “therapy session” it provided me on that day, saved my life. I didn’t want to share this one, but I know that I must. One of you out there may stumble upon it, and find it as theraputic as I did…and still do. I’ll be adding a combination reading of “Melancholy Leaks” & another poem called “Quasar” later this morning. Sometimes, to truly feel the words of a poem, they must be spoken.
Some mornings I wish,
That the ink would run dry.
-And my thoughts were again invisible,
To the naked eye.
The more of me I spill,
The more they think they know.
These pages slowly kill,
Yet effortlessly they flow.
A wounded poet,
A tortured shell of long before.
I carry the burden well,
But it frightens me to my core.
While I’m tongue tied and battered,
The pen is well spoken.
My heart has long been shattered,
I still masquerade it as unbroken.
The story behind my eyes,
Is far too consuming.
It’s hard to revel in the sunshine,
With such darkness always looming.
#RIPMCA …just another slide preview of what’s to come. #703JuiceAtomic enjoy.
I see things differently,
I’ve adjusted my motivation.
Like a crisp morning’s breath.
Anything is salvageable,
Before you meet death.
Introduce yourself to serenity,
Make a good first impression.
The answer to divinity,
Is attained in slow progression.
The Super Moon shined prominently,
Antique white with a hint of peach.
So large in the sky,
It looked close enough to reach.
And though I knew,
It was too far away to touch.
I extended my arm,
And pretented I could clutch…
And hold it in the palm of my hand,
I’d blow away the lunar dust.
And then throw it through the atmosphere,
With the easiest of thrusts.
I’d return it to the starry skies,
For another imagination to hold.
Back where it belongs,
Dominating the night, so bold.