Shadows Of My Heart (poetry from the soul; for the soul)

Potential?

Potential?

Potential they say and to many it satisfies,

But what does it mean in your eyes?

What is potential if it's never released,

Never realised,

Never used?

The word; not fully understood but seemingly abused,

And sometimes all but a sad ruse

The aim of which is to confuse.

For what's a pen without paper,

What's one, without the other?

What's the two together,

If nothing's ever written?

The world's lies you've taken,

The love of them you've seemed to be smitten.

Must the trees' death be in vain?

For nothing you think to stain,

On its pages.

You must be insane,

To think that the same you can remain,

When around you the world changes.

Potential?

Potential you seek?

Then turn your eyes to the graves,

Where potential is at its peak.

Potential ideas, never to actions leaped,

And through the soil they now seep,

That feeds the growing weeds,

The useless fate of which they have equally seized.

You must think this bleak,

But this is the potential of which daily we speak.

Like a waterfall,

Daily your waters plunge

The grandeur of you sound,

A beauty of which you've easily flung,

I sigh at the sight of the many tourists that surround.

Your beauty they flock,

Your beauty they attempt to capture,

In pictures in which your waters are still,

Maybe this; their will,

To paint a picture of a potential that's dead,

Maybe this is how they see it in their heads,

Or perhaps they know,

That behind the wonders of your rainbow,

You are but a mere show.

The revenue they bring in, to you, you think they owe,

But your potential is nothing of their affair,

For they are only here,

But a short while,

So your waters are left to run the mile,

No story to tell,

No turbine they propel,

In the hydropower plants that could have dispelled,

Much valuable electricity.

Don't you see?

Or the fogs produced by your might,

Have somehow blinded your sight?

So that you care not about the bauxite,

That is shipped away,

When here it could have stayed,

If only, your potential energy,

Gave way to the electricity that could exist,

To power the electrolysis,

That's needed in the bauxite to aluminium process.

In you lies the potential,

To change someone's dirty red into a shiny metal.

Saving many the trouble,

I wish the sharp reality of my words could pierce your bubble,

In which you comfortably sit,

Thinking it fit,

To know not what you are about,

While your world plummets into daily blackouts,

The darkness of which you murmur,

When really it could have been prevented had you been an overcomer.

Wake up from your slumber,

In which continually you've been found.

How long will you with your roaring waters attempt to block out the jarring truths that sound?

Stop selfishly taking up the sun,

Trying to fool others with a light that's mere reflection.

But in praise to God

As one being His creation,

Accept such gracious splendour,

Do not cower,

But bless others with the light from your hydropower.

******

NB: This poem speaks about someone who's behaving like a waterfall; having potential energy but never puting it to use. The thought process is you can get aluminium(shiny metal) from bauxite (reddish brown colour) through a process called electrolysis, which needs a lot of electricity. Now because of this, a country may have bauxite but sends it off to another country that produces electricity at an affordable cost. Now in the country that produces bauxite, there is a waterfall, from which they can get the electricity needed. Also, imagine this electricity can prevent blackouts/ power outages from occurring. This poem is in no way political, but it shows that when one doesn't release their potential, others can suffer.