April is National Poetry Month! According to the Academy of American Poets, National Poetry Month is held every April, and it is a celebration of poetry and its place in American culture. To honor this event, I’ve written the following three poems, all relating to motivation and new beginnings.
Life pulls you down but you’ve got to get up.
Up from the torrent, the rains of acid.
You’ve got to get up for that one drop that tastes of sugar,
Because that is what makes us live.
You live for the honey despite the bee stings,
That fresh smell of roses amid the thorns.
You live for the rhythm within the chaos,
That one bird that sings during a storm.
You’ll want to follow a road of destruction,
Angrily clawing at what’s in your path.
But with this cage comes a shield from emotions,
A numbness to love, and to compassion.
For without those falls, you’ll never enjoy the times you get up,
The times you spread your wings when they are wet and heavy.
You’ll never learn to enjoy the wins,
Without knowing how it feels when you keep on losing.
When something has got you down,
Try and try again.
Your life gets better with each time you rise up.
That joy is true joy, real triumph.
A Sparrow’s Flight
A jump, a push, the first motivation.
Wings that extend in confidence and aspiration.
Air rushing up as he crashes and falls.
A heap on the ground, a small, twisted ball.
A moment of despair as those small eyes open.
The weight of gravity leaves him broken.
But he’ll stand up, his wounds will mend.
With patience and persistence, he’ll try again.
The next time, he jumps from the nest on his own.
He soars up and away, further than before.
He chirps in joy; he’s tried for so long.
His journey has left him swift and strong.
She pulls her legs toward her
Curls into a ball
Feels the weight crush her
She is shriveled and small.
Her eyes haven’t seen.
Her ears haven’t heard.
For she has never seen or heard.
She can’t see the stairs surrounding her.
She only sees the looming towers.
She can’t hear the music that seeps from cracks and crevices.
All she can hear is whirling chaos.
Her nose hasn’t smelled.
Her tongue hasn’t tasted.
For she has never smelled or tasted.
She can’t smell the warm, happy scents.
Only the apparent and strong reek of waste.
She can’t stick her tongue out to taste sweetness.
She can only detect the stickiness of syrup, the sugar crumbling down.
She’s blind to those who lift her up.
Deaf to the happiness amid the chaos.
Anosmic to the encouragement that seeps from negativity.
Numb to the sweetness amid the sorrow.
But she can learn to see the motivations,
Learn to hear for the calm in the eye of the hurricane.
Learn to smell the warmth in the bitter cold.
Learn to taste sweetness despite its weight.
She can straighten her legs out.
Stretch her body straight.
She can lift her arms up with those of others.
And finally stand, stand with confidence and strength.