Midnight Oil Burns Quick (In-Depth #5)
Poetry can be defined in many ways: self expression through words, or using the figurative to bring light to the literal.
I choose to define it differently. Poetry, to me, is the crossroads between what is real and what is abstract. Bending reality into twisted words that can wrap up the listener and deposit them in a mirrored maze… it is a thing of beauty.
Poetry can be used to disguise and mutate simple truths to have greater impact on others; whats fascinating about poetry is that it works on yourself too.
Recently late nights have become one of the constants in my life. Poetry is the tool I use to forget that: yes, next week is going to be hard, and pretend that: yes, next week is going to be what I want to do. Fake it until you become it – a powerful mantra indeed.
When do lies you tell yourself become your truths? I hope it happens quickly. Hmmm. Maybe poetry is the answer to transmuting my mistakes to answers… certainly, poetry has been the answer to many things in my life it feels.
Poetry has become a release – when my emotions run fast like raging currents, poetry is the waterfall that drops them into a tranquil pool.
Poetry has become an escape – when tragedy strikes, it is my crutch. These past few days, I have needed that crutch a little more than usual.
Poetry has become the reward – when the work piles up hard in a week and I find myself bouncing between all the cogs of my machine; poetry is the emergency lever that stops the cogs spinning for a moment so I can just reset.
Funny, how poetry has so quickly become something I sacrifice for.
Tonight, the midnight oil burns bright. The stereotypical poet inside me yearns for me to stay up late, late into the twilight hours so as to gain more writing inspiration… the boy/man who wants to keep the promises I made to myself keeps saying “stay up, finish your commitments…” but Jamie wants to sleep.
Hmm. My muse says this is interesting writing material.
That would be an interesting piece, right? Sleeping? Does it really matter? Or should I sacrifice it to the teenage gods of procrastination and overestimation of self-capabilities…
Does this even make sense?
Is this even an In-Depth post?
But it could be defined as poetry!
10/10. I see it in my dreams.
Goodnight to anyone reading this as late at night as I wrote it. And please, please, please, keep on sleeping.