Writhing of the Writers Vol. 1

Like knots in my throat,
Engraved on my stone.
An eternal curse,
Lodged between each dusk
Dreams turn to dust.

And then leave
On the parchment—
Stains of blood,
Trust and wanderlust.
Echoed never heard
The whispering.

On the flames
As I go,
My feet tremble
On burning coal—
Yet I move on.

Someplace with angel face
But devilish within,
I pray.
With each rising day,
I begin to erase
Just to fill the page
Emptiness, false modest
And undying rage.
True and honest
Like moulding clay.

I stay again.
I build my home.
With each dying cry—
Heaven give me strength,
For my love overturns
Left in dust to be forgotten.

Words hide,
Walk around in my mind,
Like rats,
Sealed and concealed
In my mind.

I’ve chosen to surrender
To the feelings that
Resemble that of gods.
Set the stage.

I need that door
To walk out past my pain
Past the world and its alignments,
Past the unanswered questions.
I need that window,
Past everything I don’t need to know.

Fly me away.
Set me free.
Let the world see
What I can be.
A beautiful chaos.
A rhythmic mess.
I let the world see
Through my eyes, God bless.

I hope the title and the context of the poem helped you understand what I’m here to say. Maybe the hashtags? I don’t know.

Stay home, stay safe. ANCHAL ♡

3 thoughts on “Writhing of the Writers Vol. 1

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