7wordstory prompt!

This is why poetry and storytelling is so important! It helps us understand its healing powers. Through relating to what has been written, we learn, we are not alone. Those feelings are felt by many, those experiences are lived by many. We feel understood, we feel connected. We feel, as one.
I was asked to come up with a #7wordstory. I could not decide on which one to go with, so I wrote 2, on the same theme… hope I am not cheating haha.
Picture taken at Glasgow Necropolis, by myself.

Advertisements

The end of the year is near! Thank you for everyone that has stopped by, read and specially the ones who commented and keep coming back, from time to time.

I appreciate you dearly. This year was an absolute hell of a year… but it gave me something I will carry with me forever. And forever I will be thankful to have poetry in my life, as self-therapy.

Let’s make 2018 an even greater year.

I hope everyone is happy and safe tonight.

Thanks!

I am grateful!

Luiza aka Divastate Daplaths

_____

As the end of the year comes near
And prostrates on my feet.
In between the Christmas cheers
And the partying on New Year’s Eve,
I reflect on the lessons that came to be.
I slowly rewind and reverse the sight,
It was the most transformative year of my life!

How can one cherry pick, the biggest learning, on a field of cherried-lesson-nuggets?
So I will lay them out side by side,
For those lessons are chained to each other, like partners in crime.
The rule of impermanence: everything changes, nothing stays the same. ‘This the flow of life, so do not get attached to anything.
You will lose, if you try to grip.
Losses and wins, that’s your jeopardy wheel, life spins.
Thus, egocentric human beings, we have no power to impede
This current that sweeps us all in a bleep.

Truth does not exist.
Reality is perception
Do not try to insist
In making your beliefs, the exception.
Once you admit:
Little do you know,
Active listening will permit
Insight into another’s world.

These lessons are branded on my bones
They need reminding, as time moves on
Though blood was spilled,
Please, do forgive.
Before a new year comes to greet,
Accept these premises and you’ll happily live.

Control Or Flow

The need for control. I naively thought I could keep pain and worries away by looking ahead… how can you see, when there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel, blinding your next step? We all walk this unknown path, which is life, unaware of what is to come next, but some of us think they have walked this path before, thus, they think they know the way. Others, fear the dangers lurking and utilise planning as protection. Rather than planning your trip, just let the path take you and trust it is a safe and happy place. Release the illusion you are in control and enjoy the journey.

Source of Memory

The well of sorrows holds my keepsakes.
I go down, time and again
To bathe in its wisdom,
To learn from those teachers
I once used to hate.
They didn’t lead me astray,
No,
They helped straighten the way
So I could find what truly lies
Beyond the pain.
The road to walk might be windy and twisted
But it is your path, so rejoice in it
Tomorrow a new day awaits,
This is your chance,
To make it great!

Cheering Sylvia

img_20171103_1956191834653617.jpgpicture credit:

https://www.google.ie/amp/s/www.vogue.com/article/sylvia-plath-national-portrait-gallery-one-life/amp

Oh pretty misunderstood soul, the Mother of Torment.
I look at those murky eyes, that carry so much intent.
Those grey piercing balls, that see nothing, but feel it all .
.
Come here, let me cradle you and swing you in my arms.
I live the pain you’ve lived, I want to rip it from our hearts.
.
Today I celebrate the joy of your existence,
Although you chose to leave us with stubborn insistence.
.
I’ll sing your name out loud, invite you to inhabit me.
We’ll jot down our lament, so we can set ourselves free.
.
I’ll care for you, my dear, I will plait Plath’s hair
Stay away from the kitchen, place your head on my lap.
.
Be my twisted guardian angel, be my best friend.
No one hears my tortured howl, only you can understand.
.
Sylvia Plath u were wrong,

You are loved… decades then.