Posted by: Jonathan Caswell | April 30, 2021

Nascent Poetry



At first, poetry was the outcome of a story. It couldn't be told. Couldn't be that bold. It couldn't be written. Somewhat forbidden. It needed to be spoken, without giving out valid tokens. Just like 'the heart of the ocean', some things are better left unspoken. Some secrets cannot be revealed. From the lips, nobody can steal. So it gushed forth. Not from tongue and throat. But as ink from fingertips. Of free speech, an eclipse. But when it was done, it became an outlet for fun. Sometimes beautiful things, come by on broken wings. Good, bad? Who knows! But like blood it flows. Access to heart, mind and soul, these unstoppable corpuscles, blended with paralyzed jaw muscles. The first one shocked. Incapable of this concoct. Several times, read and edited. Confused, to whom could this be credited? Uncomfortable with the compliments. Too awesome to bag the accomplishment. Was it…

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