PROMPT: Write a love poem.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Draft after draft, tossed in the trash.
Burned it all up, turned craft to ash.
I sought to trap you in pretty words,
but you defied them at every turn.
You are not the sun, the moon, nor the stars,
shining bright but far, distant light and heat.
You are the earth, the ground and the stones,
laid dull in shade, but firm beneath my feet.
You are rough and course, unpolished grit,
immovable weight with jagged sides,
blood stains and sweat you wear with pride,
a mouth full of dirt, sharp wit and spit.
You were born from both heat and pressure,
like steel in a forge, melted and cooled,
hammered down to a perfect measure.
But, so are diamonds, are they not?
For what is a jewel if not a rock,
made precious by time and toil.
And if beauty can come from soil,
then even poetry can come from you.
Draft after draft, but now closer, at last.
From fire and ash, something new is cast.
Instead of pretty, my words will stand true,
strong and steady, but still humble, like you.
YOU ARE READING
The Other Side of the Mirror: An Anthology
Poetry❝ Let us dive in deep, past our smiling reflections. ❞ A collection of my occasional forays into poetry, mostly revolving around themes of identity and connection (to others or ourselves). A lot of these pieces were written for prompts, which will b...
