Why I Write

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Fiery red was the rock

It was boiling, scorching, blistering sizzling, burning, searing rock.

It is going to explode

To blast through the earth with incredible power, strength, and force.

 

And yet

 

Light blue was the ice

It was frosty, bitter, wintry arctic, miserable, cold ice.

It is frozen forever

Permanent, strong, indestructible, firm, and resilient.

 

Then

 

Fast were the legs.

They are quick, rapid, speedy, swift, hasty, and expeditious.

They never slow down

Catching their prey with craftiness, astuteness, shrewdness, and slyness.

 

And yet

 

Slow were the arms

Sluggish, unhurried, measured, deliberate, leisurely, and dawdling.

They will never be fast

Always calm, tranquil, peaceful, quiet, still, composed, serene, and relaxed.

 

Or so it seems.

 

What is this conflict?

This disagreement.

This clash, quarrel, inconsistency, discord, contradiction, tension, and controversy.

 

I know what it is.

 

It is the volcano, impatiently waiting to erupt.

The glacier that will not melt.

The cheetah who catches his prey.

The turtle who meanders about.

 

I cannot keep the thoughts and words inside; they boil and bubble out of my head and onto the paper.  And yet they cling in my heart like ice that never melts.

 

I cannot help but quickly let my thoughts out to wander and catch their audience. And yet, I can patiently move in accordance with the words in my heart and mind.

 

This is why I must write. My very heart requires me to let onto my emotions and thoughts.

 

This is what poetry means to me.

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