Poetic Dreams - Other's Poems - My Sanity - My Sanctuary - by: Pamela O'Brien - submitted: 28 October 2002

On those days when you're sure that the sun won't ever rise again,
Remember that poetry can keep you sane.
"Oh, I'm not a poet" you respond with disdain,
But the truth is all poets are exactly the same.

We write with our hands that are the guide of our thoughts,
Although sometimes they can hardly keep up!
We use language to personify what we feel in our hearts,
To describe our horrifying endings and spectacular starts.

On those days when I am sure that not soul in the world,
Can understand all my elation or all of my hurt,
I pick up a pen and allow myself to blurt,
And would you believe that the result is these very words?

Luc (67.36.186.58) -- Saturday, November 30 2002, 09:42 am

encore
it just flowed nicely together. almost like a song. read it a few more times every time sounding more 'lively' keep writing.

Pamela (66.38.146.184) -- Saturday, November 30 2002, 10:44 pm

Lively, I like That
Lively eh? I quite like that you found it to be lively. And I read it a few more times and you are right :O) I think this was one I just had to write because its not my normal topic of choice - and I was having a moment of appreciation for poetry and this site! Glad you liked it Luc

Capricorn (62.30.192.1) -- Monday, December 2 2002, 01:10 am

lovely
Lovely poem Pam, as you say not your usual, but wonderful thoughts and so true

Pamela (66.38.146.184) -- Monday, December 2 2002, 01:19 am

:o)
I thought you might like this one Cap, it seems like the kind that you would appreciate! Being a dunker and all.....
LOL

Jason (152.121.36.65) -- Thursday, December 5 2002, 05:17 pm

Nice
I came across your poems looking for a Pamela I used to date. I was intrigued and read a poem, the next thing I knew I was reading them all. Great work.

Xeracy (64.12.96.77) -- Saturday, December 28 2002, 08:46 am

You said it how it is. Writing keeps me sane and I know that the other people here are sane for the same reasons. We can scream, cry and confess through the pen onto paper. Don't you hate it when your hand can't keep up with your thoughts? 8c)

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