A poem does not come to you suddenly
It takes months and millenniums
For an idea to ferment inside you
Ages, for thousands of experiences to amalgamate
And become a slow dripping pot of nectar.
You know what's sudden about a poem?
An empty room, a hill top
Lakeshore and balconies
The 9th shot of vodka your 3rd glass of whisky
4 am's and heartbreak
Incidents are sudden
Incidents that spill fermenting barrels
Drowning your innards in aging lager
Incidents that squeeze your gut
Till the nectar gushes out of you like water
And then thickens it to blood and hurt
Until it forms a ball of darkness
That sucks whatever is left in you
Rhyme, rhythm and synonyms
That's when you must pass out
and fall in it face first
The poems then takes you
like a memory foam and beach sand
That's how every poem differs
When you spell it you taste it
Some are bubbly and short lived
Sweet tasting salt meadows
The intoxicating are bitter one's
Less nectar more darkness
Then suddenly it hits you
There must have been a person in here
Suddenly, the world has become a burial ground,
bidding solemn goodbyes to the ones dear and fond.
All the material possessions mattered no more.
The brunt of the reality, our hearts bore.
Turning to love, affection and care,
we realise, all the while we weren't fair.
While taking things for granted,
we didn't realise, our humanity being slaughtered.
The world's filled with fear, anxiety and dread.
Hearts once strong and impregnable having tears shed.
With everything at stake,
it's high time we awake
And suddenly everything
felt a little lighter
when I started to love
myself a little better