(#16) Synecdoche

My words will not fall on
Deaf ears, no
Not when I write them

My words hold true a story
A unique fraction, a passing second-
It will not return again.

I freeze my memories into words
Three lines a stanza? They grow just as I want them to
I give my language my life.

Poetry amplifies meanings-
Visual, auditory, tactile qualities.
What you need is

A Pensive, the worded variant,
The sanctuary of time past, the ethereal vibrancy
Our lives that slip past our fingers unnoticed. Tick-tock-tick-tock.

Poetry is the small stone I pick from the mountain top
And hurl down at the sea below.
The ripples, the ripples

It makes great difference to the masses of fish.
A little part of me, I donate in literature
For everyone to partake of.

Just a scratch taken from my life, poetry-
It is more than just a representation of me.
It defines me. I am my own ambassador, whilst

Nobody will be my Caesar except myself.
So peace ho, hear me,
"Friends, Romans, countrymen: lend me your ears."



For apostropheundone.blospot.com