*This is raw emotion, fresh from my heart and I don't pretend otherwise. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing so I'm well aware it's no good. I suppose I'm only doing this for myself because I can't think of any point in sharing. Besides, I'm trying to steer clear of any mentioning of 'poetry' since it's in essence nothing the like. So here is goes (without my bothering to title it):
You speak of nature
As if it held some mystical power,
So delicate and gentle,
Over my hair and every vein of my heart-stone.
You speak of the flowing waters
The only place where my sentimentality was to be put to rest,
The imagery of my mind's reflection refined,
Or better still, pampered with warm, soft blankets
And the chirping of birds that embellishes a serene Irish evening.
You speak of it as if I had no want or worldly dreams,
As if I had no wish to carry on the mundane.
It is moments like these that render my speech rather empty.
Superfluous or simplistic,
They are without meaning.
Let the sinking feeling set in,
As I embrace it without the slightest of fear.