Along the Wind

along_the_windAlong the wind,

I bend and I sway.

Time is slipping by.

The ground beneath me

is all I see.

The poison in the pain

is the illusion of hope.

It’s all lines; It’s all lies,

drawn with an artist’s brush,

beautifying and simplifying

the irregular rythmes of

the strokes that once

portrayed the truth.

The truth that is now so tainted

that compelled me to write these words.

Impromptu Write 03/May/2017 © Wassim Cherif

I miss writing poetry (I wouldn’t call the one above true poetry). Sometimes I get urges to scribble down some ideas so I do so without a filter and that’s what my impromptu poems are. I keep them untouched and unedited because they represent a state of mind at a certain time. It’d be interesting to go back to them years later and see myself through them.

 

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