Poetry
Poetry
...is your soul speaking.
I don't like this new notebook.
The paper seems plasticky,
the lines drawn too heavily.
It feels mass-produced
(which of course it is),
yet it accepts all the ink
I'm willing to spill out.
The rowdy voices in my head
don't care about the notebook,
but are shouting to remind me
poems aren't just written words,
but also pictures on a rock;
music and stories around a fire.
I grew up in this town,
my poetry was born
between the hill and the river,
it took its voice from the rain,
and like the timber,
it steeped itself in the forests.
~ Pablo Neruda
