Continuum
It was a cool Wednesday evening when I was born,
A clean slate doused in habromania,
Crying without reason and reaching for tenderness,
The walls of this heart began to brew up with stories,
Poems etched into silent thoughts,
Lost on the wings of short-lived desires —
And reality only came along to put out the fires,
The budding embers of the dreams I had when I woke up to reason.
My dad kicked the bucket when I was seven,
A man so powerful and yet, so gentle
He was a novel, the type you get lost in,
Hard to decipher but full of gems,
A story that kept you chasing at the helms…
My mother?
She was gentle and wise like a collection of proverbs,
The type that quietly nudges you like the silence of a windy night,
She befriended my flaws to chase them away —
And gently fed me wisdom when I seemed to lose my sway
My brother is an epic,
A never ending legend,
Always rising against the odds,
Hand in hand with logic and strength,
He came to consciousness three years after me —
And has remained a reason why I keep striving for my essence.
Time has only floated gleefully away
From the beginnings that I saw to the man I am becoming,
I am the elegy you read and find solace in,
The last line of the thrilling poem that lingers in your heart,
Though survivors have scars and victims have graves,
I’ve been on both sides of that coin;
A broken ship that rides the waves.
notes: This was written in response to a question from a poetry challenge by Logophobic, the question being: “What written media am I?”
It really got me thinking, if I was a written media, what would I be? how would I feel to a reader? It’s very interesting and it was fun to write around, for those interested in trying it out, I’ve linked his piece below.
Thanks for reading 🙌🏾🤍
