Untitled

[symphony]

I sang.
My song lanced away, through the wind,
through it, in acute impulses,
and made sounds that were distant,
that, to me, sounded dear.
I found a home in it,
the distance made it one I could not see,
though the warmth came through the air.


But the song,
as it coursed back,
made me quiver.
And when it hit me in percussive beats,
it stabbed,
like shards of a mirror broken
but still
reflecting a distorted self.


And there was no escape
for me from my song.

[ahsiam]

as i wrote earlier the thoughts that gave birth to your poem has no limit of its beauty. i dont wanna say more..........

[symphony]

Haha! this one went so far below that i couldnt even find it here.
Thanks for commenting, as i might have told u earlier, i dont care if this poem's good, i just had to vent. But u know i value each word u say. :)