Hello beautiful souls out there in cyberspace!
Today's random peek into my heart is about Poetry. I am going to share a poem that I once wrote.
This is a poem I wrote about 13 years ago when I was taking a poetry writing class as part of my program to earn my BA in English. See, I used to write poetry constantly. It was extremely important to me from seventh grade on, since I had always thought school was pretty boring until I made the delightful discovery of poetry that year in school. And when did I stop writing poetry? When I married my first husband at 24, and basically locked my creative heart up tightly in a little box and threw away the key...the only solution when one marries someone that they know they do not love, and who is their soul's opposite in every way. The last poems I ever wrote were the ones in which I was trying to work through my pre-wedding jitters. I really should have listened to my own voice in those poems, because I knew I was making a mistake...anyway, those are other poems, for another day...
The poem I am going to share follows a form, that is why it has the structure and repetition that it does. I believe the form is called "Villanelle". If you want to research that further, here's a link I found: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5796
"Flux"
The Lesson of Flux
The source of meaning is deaf to my cries,
mysteries I seek to unravel and understand-
Time just flies regardless, it flies.
I learned the only way to know is if you try,
this means failure nine times out of ten, and
the source of meaning is deaf to my cries.
Feeble wings falter, escapes my weary sigh,
persistence the only way to survive and still stand
Time just flies regardless, it flies.
Life has led me to too many goodbyes
and sorrow with a measure of joy to withstand
the source of meaning is deaf to my cries.
Hope comes in the morning, behind my eyes
before life's realities burn my heart like a brand
time just flies regardless, it flies.
Many dark nights awakened by questions of why,
with only a small pebble of faith as a talisman in my hand.
The source of meaning hears my cries,
but time still flies regardless, it flies.
Christina Carnoy
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