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A Note To The Runners: Get my book here.
Register for my mentorship! Fill it out the form here.
Recorded: November 18th, Adelaide, South Australia.
The Poet's Lullaby.
Who sings the poet to sleep,
when the words don't stop dancing,
amongst a mind too soft for the pillow,
amongst a mind
cut too sharp
that couldn't
wouldn't
lay flat amongst the sheets of the navy sky.
There must be a lullaby for the poet's mind,
a bench to sit on behind closed eyelids,
to let dreams play,
unfurling and recoiling,
nightmaring,
tip- toeing
wandering the liminal space
between the subconscious mind and the future heart.
Can the poet fall asleep
tasting their own medicine
listening to the music they composed
toiling on the words that carved their foundations.
a lullaby surely soothes the soul of the cracked heart
pouring balm into the waterways
that broke free,
hoping to find love in other places
when the world stopped singing
Yet the poet,
malnourished by a world lacking feeling
starving for something real
seeks out the silence that follows a whisper
aching for a desert
desiring one instant
for time to freeze.
Give the poet nothing,
deprive them of everything
and only then will you hear,
the sweetest lullaby
beacuse it was deprivation,
that put the poet to sleep.
A world of stimulation,
killed the poet.
and
bled them dry,
of every
single
word.
By Joshua Lynott5
77 ratings
A Note To The Runners: Get my book here.
Register for my mentorship! Fill it out the form here.
Recorded: November 18th, Adelaide, South Australia.
The Poet's Lullaby.
Who sings the poet to sleep,
when the words don't stop dancing,
amongst a mind too soft for the pillow,
amongst a mind
cut too sharp
that couldn't
wouldn't
lay flat amongst the sheets of the navy sky.
There must be a lullaby for the poet's mind,
a bench to sit on behind closed eyelids,
to let dreams play,
unfurling and recoiling,
nightmaring,
tip- toeing
wandering the liminal space
between the subconscious mind and the future heart.
Can the poet fall asleep
tasting their own medicine
listening to the music they composed
toiling on the words that carved their foundations.
a lullaby surely soothes the soul of the cracked heart
pouring balm into the waterways
that broke free,
hoping to find love in other places
when the world stopped singing
Yet the poet,
malnourished by a world lacking feeling
starving for something real
seeks out the silence that follows a whisper
aching for a desert
desiring one instant
for time to freeze.
Give the poet nothing,
deprive them of everything
and only then will you hear,
the sweetest lullaby
beacuse it was deprivation,
that put the poet to sleep.
A world of stimulation,
killed the poet.
and
bled them dry,
of every
single
word.

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