Write on my Heart

I draw you around me with the strokes of my pen
I ink you……………………into being
Or maybe I’m just inking
what has already been impressed
Upon the pages of my heart, of my life
The existence that was, is,
before I even knew a pen
And now I’m just
filling out
The parts of you I like
To see your impressions more clearly
To let others see them more clearly
I know you’d want me to show
More of you
than what I liked,
Even though I couldn’t know
All of you enough to define
(But really, is there something about you I don’t?
You can be
inconvenient
harsh
strict
to me
But that’s only because
You’re True
and Just
and Right
and I’m not.)
So no, I don’t not like you.
I just need time
to learn to be on your side
as you are on mine.
Sometimes I deviate from you, the perfect pattern on the page
Sometimes I think the streaks would look better
beyond the ridges you have made.
The nib glides more easily
across the smooth surface,
Better than the valleys you’d rather me run
Until I look back to see
What a mess I’d made
And try to find the path
I ought to have tread instead
But no matter where I mark
I realise that the imprints I’d formed
apart from yours
Were never really beyond you
after all
I see a second mark that draws alongside mine
It patterns and swirls and buffets my line
And I see that the doodle of two colours
Dance a lovely picture across the white
It makes even my errors contritely beautiful
It guides me along my path, your plan
And I think that you must have known
The ways of my straying lines before they were marked
Else how could you have made such a picture as this
My line, so straight and simple,
You make into art
Along the way I see other colours
Ribboning across the pages with me
They ink in new and different ways
They paint brightly
and illumine darkly
But they are all lovely
because they are from you
I realize that the ridges run off the page, my page
And crosses the spaces of other books
Where what you gave me,
my colour and my style,
becomes unique.
These, you use
to beautify and guide
the other brother’s hand.
And this I consider
a divine honour.
Even there I see your marks unchanging
Across the pages and the books,
Your signature motif, so sure and true,
remains, remains the same
At last when I reach the final page
And the ink has run dry at last
You hold up the pages
And show me how each page,
bearing a nonsense squiggle of colours,
Run together to form
The perfect world you saw in us
before we did or ever could,
The beautiful children
you made us to be
in your flawless countenance
The picture I had tried to draw from the beginning
On a single page
You had me draw parts
throughout the book of my life,
the pages were impressed
when you gave it to me
And while I drew I could not know,
And if I knew I could not see.
But because you gave this book, this pen
And you accompany me in your evergreen hue
I draw without knowing, without seeing,
I draw both believing and unceasing.
Some parts are messy, the tangle at your feet
When I first pressed the pen to the page
And insisted on only coloring the easy parts
Or not coloring where the ridges did bade me
Along the girth of your waist I see blotches
When I first made those I thought
I had certainly spoilt the picture
Now I see that they were but details
The shadows which breathes life into the portrait
Throughout the painting the patches of whites
and jumble of shades
and dark black blotches
never completely went away
But your mark which never parted mine
guided me to form
this precious precious picture.
It made everything look exactly as if
I knew what I was doing
You turn and display my work
As if I were the great artist who painted this
And you lavished me more than abundantly
Because this work you had beautified
You also credited to me
And as I watch you frame up the work,
As if it were so precious,
I see how it fits with the other pages of my brothers
I see it all so suddenly
I see how you gave me
More than a book, more than a pen
You gave me a hope, a future,
You gave me an eternity
You gave me tools, knowing and hoping,
knowing and hoping I wouldn’t stop
And you had a frame prepared for the completed piece
before I had even started
To think that all the time
I thought I held the pen
I thought I wielded power
To pen down my life, mine
To even ink You into being
I forgot who it was that gave me the ink,
the pen, the pages,
the hands
to write with.
How laughable, how foolish it is!
When I see the beginning from the end.
I see how I’m so small
Next to your grand scheme of everything
And that I could not do what you would not me to
That you helped me gain what I could not on my own
There is so much more in life, this life
which was not fully mine to begin with
I am a part of something greater
because in Your greatness,
You allowed me
to be a part of you
You,
you are mine,
and I am
Yours.
You have given me life
With it I ask you
to take up the pen
and write
Write on my Heart


This is the result of losing my voice. Yes I have lost my voice~ My writing voice, that is. It’s taking a convenient holiday while I study for my upcoming finals soo I’m not in a hurry to find it or get it back at the moment. Having that burn in your bones when you’re passionate about something and needing to write it out at once is most distracting and detrimental for studying hoho.
I decided to post these “metered thoughts” instead which struck me in the library a couple of weeks ago. I caught them and wrote them down on the bus back to the dorms. I thought about rhyming them but…I don’t know, it feels better raw. I rhymed the other one, the Dreams one, but something in it rhyming made it feel just a little artificial. You wouldn’t know, though, because I didn’t put up the raw lines.This time, I did clean up a little but I didn’t rhyme it. I don’t know if this would still count as what they call “unrhymed poetry”, but just in case, I’m calling it for what it is: metered thoughts. Hohoho aren’t I original.
I also went experimental (a nice word for crazy) with the text alignment, something I see poetry in nowadays. So modern. It’s driving me a bit mad, to be honest so I’m just going to publish it and not bother about it any longer. YOLO mo~
Well, anyways, hope you liked this! Same rules, if you are some kind of a guru in poetry, please tell me what you think of it (kindly, please, I am an easily bruised soul). If you aren’t a guru on poetry, well, then we are pretty much on the same level. But tell me what you think of it anyways, I’d love to hear any kind of constructive feedback. 🙂
Interpret as you will~
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