composing poetry
2:48 PM
Reading a book is one thing, but reading poetry is something extraordinary. For me, the same goes with writing it. When I sit down to write, pen in my hand, candle burning by my side, it's as if a world of possibilities lies before me. No boundaries; only feeling, loving, breaking, and healing. Poetry is full of magic, because how can something so beautiful be composed from a simple dictionary of words? I thought I would let you in the door to my heart and read a few of my compositions. With Love, Viktoria x
I. the girl who writes
Her pen moved in rhythm to the
music of his voice.
Her big brown
eyes
mirrored his soft, blue ones.
The globe on her desk
spun
around and around
like her thoughts of his lips.
For she is his poet,
and
he is her universe.
I wrote this little piece a while ago about a boy I care about very much. Someone who has and will always be in my heart. It's very much a description of me, my things, & my thoughts-
II. glow
All the lights in
the universe
combined, are
pitch black compared
to the brightness in
your brilliant
blue
eyes.
When I fall for someone, it always begins with their eyes. I'll notice the way they light up when they look my way, or the sadness swell up in them when I leave without saying goodbye. A pair of eyes can be more elaborate and beautiful than the best of novels.
III. incandescence
I was too busy searching for emeralds and rubies,
to notice the way your voice softens when you speak to me.
I would gaze at my reflection in the mirror,
confused at my constant tear-stained cheeks and
expressionless eyes.
It wasn't until later that I realized the only radiance I need
is the kind that lights up your face whenever
you look my way.
I don't like to live with regrets because they weigh me down but I will never forgive myself for taking him for granted. There is only one boy who would give his very life for me, and yet I thought I needed something "more." I've learnt that your heart can be selfish in a way that results in despair instead of the bliss it was searching for.
IV. quiet ways
And I silently watched the final bits of wood crumble and die into
nothing but burnt, black embers.
The fire may have perished, but my soul had come alive
as I realized there would never be
anyone for me but you.
One day, 6 years from now, I will see this boy sitting by the window of a coffee shop; he'll flip the page of his book and run his fingers through his hair, a frown forming on his brow. Eventually, he'll look up, see me writing hastily on a notepad at the table in the corner, and instantly break into a smile. I'll feel his eyes on me and look up to meet his; the same, glistening blue eyes I had always known. In that moment, we'll both remember all those years we spent laughing with each other and know that nothing, not even time, could pull us apart..
v. bedside musings
The ink from her pen began to flow
smoothly
the moment thoughts of
him
flooded her mind.
This is actually the newest of my compositions. I woke up earlier than usual this morning to rain hitting my window and instantly felt a strong urge to write. So this was the result of yet another stormy morning and a good morning message from him.
xoxo, Viktoria
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