Poetry

The Wooden Hand

flower-hands-man-wood-poem

There was something
in the way
he held
the flowers—
as if he
was ready
to give them,
but thought otherwise.

Discover Challenge’s Blogging the Senses.

P.S. I’m not really sure if this post appeals to at least one of the senses (though it somehow did to me), so if it does, tell me so. I would love to hear what you think!

 

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Bitter

Demand for Authenticity

Illustrations-Diego-Fernandez-11I’m tired of looking at something I can’t have. I constantly block my senses from working—my eyes from seeing, the thought from coming, and the feelings(!)—almost hating them for functioning properly. But the itch on my heart just keeps growing, gently and then suddenly.

I’m tired of living in the back of my mind instead of walking with reality. My body is hungry and it’s craving for something definite, something real. But the world I made for myself is bewitching.

I’m tired of wanting prohibited dreams. People. And things. But my ears stubbornly listen to my articulate brain talking its way through things by teaming up with my very desires.

We’re tired of liking something we can’t have. But we do it anyway. Because the thought of it is thrilling, our eyes spark for it’s fireworks that we see, and the feelings(!), unlike any that we know of. We’re tired, but we keep on thinking anyway. For it deceives our minds and makes us happy for a moment; happy because of an imagination and even though happiness is a myth. We’re tired but we keep on wanting, on yearning the prohibited. Because no matter how much we try to fool ourselves that everything will be better if we follow the right track, the impalpable forces will pull us back to show us what we truly love.

[Photo]

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